This Little Light of Mine
by Paige-Rawr
Summary: "Just let him finish me. Or, let me finish me. Would that make it better? Would that solve all my problems?" Annabelle is a confused, abused, and suicidal 15 year old girl. She only has her two bestfriends to keep her sane. But, when one of those friends start to go against her, where does that leave her? On the edge, about to do the one thing that seems right.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or any of it's characters. I do, however, own Annabelle, her dad, Marla, Matt, Danny, and many future OCs :)**

**Warning: This story has self-harm, and suicidal thoughts. Just in case you're affected or set off by it.**

I've never liked myself. I'm tired of people saying I should. I'm always told: "You're so beautiful", "I'm so jealous of you!". Now, more and more often, I'm told: "You need to stop this", "Look what you're doing!".

People say I'm different. Saying how I'm not me anymore. Saying how I'm disappearing. I wish I'd disappear for good. Yeah, I think just disappearing would be good. Acceptable. But there are these two people. Two people, who I couldn't ever leave. It would be too selfish. Two people who I know -and this one thing I am absolutely sure of- would be devastated if I disappeared. My best friends, in the world. Marla and Matt. They're my rocks. My sole purpose of still existing. Of still being known as Annabelle.

"ANNNABELLLE!" Marla screamed, stretching my name out.

"WHAT!"I screamed back, looking into the dark abyss that was my stairway to the main level. "WHY IS IT DARK, MARLA! WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"I DIDN'T DOIT, I SWEAR!"

I sighed, and let out a quiet giggle. I slugged out of my room and to the top of the staircase, and tried to flick the light switch. To no avail.

"Marla, you need to go to the basement, to the panel, and switch the power back on", I spoke, tired of yelling. I was getting so tired lately.

"But..."She started. I grinned, rolling my eyes. I knew what was coming. "It's...It's... Too dark! CALL MATT!" She screamed 'call Matt' as if it was a' Eureka' moment.

"I'm not calling Matt to turn the power back on. It's one switch, for one level. Just do it Marla! MAN UP!" I giggled, and grabbed a flashlight. I slowly made my way down the stairs, making no noise at all. The closer I got, the more clearly I could hear her whimpering.

So I jumped on her.

Her scream was the loudest I've ever heard. And of course, her reaction was to lash out. Too busy laughing, I didn't see it coming, and got her fist, straight to my eye.

"MARLA! YOUFISH! IT WAS ME! OW!" I screamed at her. Still, I was laughing. Marla gasped, and turned on the flashlight I had in my hand before she punched me.

"ANNABELLE! I'm so sorry! Oh my gosh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. I could see she was trying to be sincere. She was genuinely sorry for punching me in the face. But at the same time, she was holding in her laughter. Just as I was.

And we both burst out in a fit of giggles.

* * *

"Mar-Marla, it's midnight" I took a deep breath, after a long laugh.

"Seriously?" She looked outside. "Oh my God, it's just as dark out there as it is inhere!"

I rolled my eyes, and smiled. But on the inside, I didn't want her to go. My dad would be home soon, though, God knows when. His shift at work ends at 10, and I have no idea where he goes afterwards. Most likely to the bar. But that's why Marla has togo. If he saw her here... I don't even want to think about what he'd do to me.

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I put a fake smile, and plastered it on my face.

"Marla, my dad is gonna be home soon, and you know how he feels about company..." I trailed off. She didn't know. At least to an extent. I think she had an idea about my father's abuse, but I'm positive she doesn't know everything. I saw her divert her eyes from me, and nodded.

"Are you gonna call someone to pick you up? Or are you gonna walk?" I asked her, worriedly.

"I'll call my brother, if that'll make you happier, you worry wart", she giggled, trying to lighten the mood again. It worked.

"Hey, I wasn't worried. It's not like anyone would wanna kidnap you. They'd get sick of you after 5 minutes and send you back"

"Oh har har, you're a funny one, " she scoffed, and rolled her eyes.

"I've been told. Now, um, come turn the power back on with me? Not that... I'm scared or anything..." I looked away, smiling.

She laughed, but made the terribly dark, dangerous journey with me, down to my basement.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow, Annabelle! LAAAVE YOU!" She made kissy faces and waved at me from the passenger seat of her 19 year old brother's car. Her brother-Danny- rolled his eyes, but I saw him chuckle and give me a small wave. I waved back to both of them and shut my front door.

Then I turned to face a war zone. Having Marla over, even for a few hours, can be torturous after she leaves. Everything was everywhere. And there's nothing my father hates more -besides me-, than coming home to a pig sty. And he makes sure tolet me know. Like a reverse tornado, I ran around as quickly as I could, putting everything in order. Picking up Marla's left over food and plates and cups, the couch cushions, everything. Last, I went to the kitchen, washed the dishes, and set an ice cold beer on the clean counter top. I set a bottle opener on top of the bottle, and walked away. I ran up the stairs and into my room.

Then I waited for the nightmare. The nightmare that always starts as soon as I hear the door handle jiggle.

* * *

The nerve wreaking wait was short, as I heard his keys in the lock. That's when my mind started racing. What did I forget? I must have forgot something, I always forget something. He always finds something. Something is always done wrong. I always mess up. I heard the door slam shut behind him as his boots clunked against the floor. He was inspecting the house. Making sure I didn't mess up.

"ANNABELLE!GET DOWN HERE. RIGHT. NOW." He bellowed.

My stomach dropped. I knew what was coming. And from his slurred words, I knew it would be far worse than the usual. He was drunk. That meant I wasn't just going to getaway with verbal abuse. No, it was going to be worse. From the top of the stairs, I took a deep breath, and readied myself.

"Coming, Daddy" I cringed at my own words. I hated calling him 'Daddy'. But I must, or I might not be able to wake up tomorrow. He wasn't a 'Daddy'. He wasn't a real 'Dad'. He was a monster sent straight from Hell.

I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, where he was waiting for me. He looked my straight into my eyes, brought his hand up, and slapped me hard, across the face. I didn't move. I wanted to cry, but I didn't dare. I didn't speak. I couldn't.

"WHAT ISTHIS?" He yelled, spitting in my face. I held my breath, as all I could smell was his nasty breath, reeking of alcohol. Following his finger, I saw him pointing behind him. He was pointing to the muddy boot prints leading to where he was standing.

"They're mud prints, from your boots, Daddy", I breathed. I was close to crying. My words came out in short, choppy sentences. Unable to take control. He was too drunk to understand that he made the mess. Anything I say will earn me some kind of hit. And that's exactly what he did. He brought his fist back, and I closed my eyes. He punched me, square in the mouth. Quickly, I ran my tongue across my teeth, eyes still closed. No teeth knocked out, thank God.

"You will never, ever blame anything on ME. You UNDERSTAND?" He spoke to me in such an evil, sinister voice.

"Yes, Daddy, of course" I nodded, and waited for him to allow me to pass. I walked to the kitchen, grabbed the cleaning supplies, and walked back to the front door. I whipped away all evidence of the mud, until where he took his boots off. To be sure, I whipped the bottom of his shoes as well. I was about to get up, when he grabbed my hair, and yanked me up from the floor. Pressing my lips together, I fought the urge to cry. What did I do now?

"You fat, ugly pig. Did you EAT TODAY?" He screamed in my face, "LOOK AT YOU STUFF YOUR FAT PIG MOUTH, YOU HORRID COW!"

I opened my eyes, and stared into his evil ones "No, Daddy, I did not eat today, Ipr-promise", I told him the truth. Stuttering now. Quickly loosing control of my emotions. My stomach hurt, and my head twirled, as the truth dawned on me. Even though I haven't eaten, three days straight, I WAS still fat. I weighed this morning. 100lbs. That's too much. That's way too much. "Haven't eaten since Thursday, Daddy" I added.

He threw me back on the ground, grunted, and walked back to the kitchen. I followed him, to put the cleaners away, and speed walked back to my room. I looked at my clock, that read 1:00AM. I shut my door behind me, and locked it. Then, I slowly faced myfull length mirror.

I cried. I looked at myself, and I thought about what my father did, and I cried. I touched my stomach. I was fat. I could feel my ribs, but I could still see fat. I could see nothing moved when I shook my arms, or legs. But I was fat. I know. I looked at the rest of me. I had bright blue eyes, and waist length ringlet blonde hair. And I was very pale. Something that stood out in LaPush, where Lived. Everyone was russet, very tan colour. I was as white as a snow flake. I've grown accustomed to it, as I've been here since I was five. Ten years later, here I am. Same place, same situation. I didn't want to leave. I liked it here. Outside of this house, everything's okay. Well, I guess it would be, if I didn't bring everything from this house along with me, everything I believed stayed in my head. Something I constantly thought about. I believe everything my father says to me. I am ugly. I am fat. I am worthless, stupid, and a waste of time. I should just give in one night. Just let him finish me. Or, let me finish me. Would that make it better? Would that solve all my problems? Would it make my dad happier, or worse? He would have to do things for himself. Marla and Matt wouldn't be too happy, but they'd get over it. I think I'd be happy. Just to get it over with.

This isn't something I liked thinking about. A fifteen year old girl should not have to stand in front of a 6 foot mirror, contemplating the pro's and con's of giving up everything. Have to see all the faults, the bad parts of herself. No one should feel this way. But me. I should. Because I deserved it.

1:30AM.

I walked over to my bed, still crying. I pulled out a razor from under my mattress, and did the only thing that would calm me. The only thing that I felt I did right.

I slowly added a new cut to my wrist.

Then I added one to the top of my thigh.

It wasn't enough.

I did it two more times, each on my thigh and wrist.

And smiled.

Relief.

**So, there it is. This is just the first chapter, and I'm aware that it's short. This story has been stuck in my head for awhile, and I wanted to get it out, and see where it would go. PLEASE REVIEW. It'll get me motivated to write more. And if you have any idea's for the future of this story, or how to improve it, that would be greatly appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2 Into The Arms Of Paul Lahote

**Holly. Macrole.**

**I was NOT expecting such a response to the first chapter! I am eternally grateful for your support everyone! THANK YOU for reviewing, favouriting, and following! Every single notification that I got from this story made me so extremely happy! Eee!**

**I'm so very, very sorry that I took SO long to update! I'm not very consistent, as you could tell, and for that, I bid my sincerest apologies. But it's here now, right? :). It's three times the length of the first chapter! Woo-hoo! Though, I admit, it's still not very long.**

**Anyway, Onward with the story! Please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed!**

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Shut up" I groaned, my face still in my pillows.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"SHUT UP" I yelled. Turning my head, I glared at the evil contraption sitting on my nightstand. I cursed the person who invented the wretched, loud 'beep' alarm. Slowly, like a sloth, I stretched my still half asleep arm, and swiped the annoying alarm clock to the ground, unplugging it in the process. "Good" I whispered to myself, grinning evilly.

It was 6 in the morning. And it was Monday.

My mouth, head, and stomach ached from last night. And it became evident when I stood up, then immediately fell back down again. "Woah" I moaned, as I brought my hand up to my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

Quickly, I unplugged my cell phone -my beloved Blackberry- from it's charger on my night table, and texted Marla.

'Marla, get UP!'

On a good day, it would only take 5 messages to finally wake her. On a bad day, I'd have to walk myself to her house before leaving for school, and we'd both be late. I don't know where she would be without me.

"She'd be better off without you. Everyone would", the little voice in my head, said. I know it sounds crazy, but I've gotten this voice it my head -that sounds remarkably like my father- ever since he started hitting me. It's like having him with me at all times, because it says things that I know for sure my father would have said if he were actually there.

I shook my head, in an attempt to shut it up, and made my way to the bathroom.

"ANNABELLE"

I groaned. The monster has awoken.

"I'm going in the shower daddy, is there anything you need?" My closed my eyes, counting to 10 mentally. Don't loose your temper... Don't loose your temper...

"You better make me a damn coffee! I want it before you leave!" He yelled back at me.

"Yes daddy" I sighed, and hurried to take my shower.

My shower was just as relaxing as I had hoped. The hot water ran down my body, leaving a path of serenity, and warmth. As I stood under the constant stream of water, I felt safe, protected. Something I could never get on the outside.

But that peacefulness never lasts. The saying "it's too good to be true" played well here. Stepping out of the shower, I dried off, and looked at my naked body in the mirror.

"You're fat"

"A low-life. You're going nowhere"

"The only job you could get is on the streets, and only for the men who can't afford any better"

"You can't eat at all this week! You need to get into the double digits, and stay there!"

"Fat!"

"Ugly!"

"Worthless!"

"Be better if you were never born!"

"Just drop dead, it'll make everything better!"

Everything my father has said to me. Every blatant truth he has blurted out, all came crashing down. It was as if I were in one of those children's help phone commercials, where the bully's words and insults flew around me. Around my body. Squeezing me, until I couldn't take it anymore. Every word, every hit. I cried out, and sunk to the floor.

* * *

After only about half an hour, I knew I had to get up. No matter how much I wanted to just stay on this floor and die, I had to get on with my life. Or how much of it I had left.

I picked myself up, and started my morning routine. I dressed in the clothes I had brought into the bathroom prior to my shower. I was about to put on some light makeup, when I noticed it. I had a black eye, from the Marla-Ninja attack last night.

"Marla..." I groaned.

Not only that, but I had a few small bruises around my mouth from my father last night.

"Damn it!" I groaned again, slamming my fist on the counter. I was so tired of going to school with bruises all over me. Showing everyone my life, on display.

After applying some foundation and mascara, I thought that it was going to have to do. The bruises were too dark to cover completely. No matter how bad it sounds, I was used to it. So used to it, it felt normal.

Sighing, I brushed through my wet hair. It'll have to be good enough.

I grabbed my cell phone, texting Marla again. No response, as per usual. Snatching up my school bag, I slipped on my navy blue long sleeve bolero jacket. Stopping at the hallway mirror, I stopped one more time to see if I looked decent enough to be out in public. My curly light blonde hair- half dry- fell to my butt, my pale face, a white canvas for the darkening bruises. My ripped and tattered dark wash skinny jeans and bright pink tank top was my favorite ensemble. And my prized possessions- besides my blackberry- my white converse. My outfit choices were probably the only thing that made my feel even slightly confident in society.

When you ignore the fat that was oh-so prominent.

"WHERE'S MY DAMN COFFEE, TEANNA", my father screamed from the living room. I rolled my eyes when he screwed up my name, yet again. At least he got "Anna" in there. I made my way downstairs, and walked past him to the kitchen. No eye contact.

Quickly, I threw his usual "Breakfast Blend" k-cup in his precious Keurig coffee machine, and turned it on.

"Almost ready, daddy!" I said, willing for the machine to brew faster.

* * *

8:15am.

How could it be so late already? School started at 8:45, and it's at least a 25 minute walk there. If you walk fast. And it looks like I'll have to make a detour to Marla's house, seeing as she still isn't up yet. I sent her another text.

'Marla, please get up. I don't have time to go to your house this morning! Woke up late!' I lied.

Immediately, I got a message back.

'OMG, I thought I messaged you back! Damn Nokia, doesn't read my mind properly! #wishingforGalaxy3'

'Lol, you know they don't actually read your mind right? Haha' I replied, smiling for the first time this morning.

I got my dad's coffee ready and cleaned up my mess. Carefully, I brought out his coffee to him. He was parked on his Lazy Boy recliner chair. Like always. I'm pretty sure he slept there. He grabbed the coffee from me, and took a sip.

"It's hot, damn it!" He yelled. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Freshly made coffee, straight from the machine. How dare it be hot? Only Einstein shall know the wonders.

"I'm going to school daddy, have a good day" I said sweetly, and put on my best fake 'innocent daughter' smile.

He grumbled something like "I hope you have a terrible one. You look like crap, cake-face"

Whether he really said that, or it was my imagination, it doesn't matter. I knew it was true anyway.

I felt my phone vibrate when I was half way to school, a message from Marla.

'Code Blue. 911. Hurry to school. Ricky Alert'

Though it was just a text message, I could almost hear the urgency in her voice. Ricky was one of the biggest school jerks. He loved to pick fights. This week, it seemed, it was going to be Marla's turn to be harassed. Next week, it'll be some next innocent kid.

Worse, Marla had a tendency to open her big mouth without thinking of the consequences. Thinking of what could happen to her, I booked it the rest of the way to school. Running as fast as I could.

* * *

The sight that met me just inside the front doors of La Push High, was not a pretty one.

Ricky had Marla in the air, hanging onto her arm. I had no doubt in my mind that she said something prior to my entrance, which set him off. I saw him raise his free hand into a fist, and was about punch her.

The scene was all too familiar.

My mind conjured up another picture, yet all the same. I saw my father take place of Ricky, and I in the place of Marla. I saw the wretched twist of anger that was on his face, and the 'I'm-ready-for-the-pain' look on the opponent.

I wasn't about to allow my best friend to go through the same thing I do on a daily basis. She sure as hell didn't deserve it.

And I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"NO!" I screamed. This was the moment I knew was coming. This was the moment, when everything inside me exploded. To the point where I couldn't hold it in, and let it build up. I let everything out.

"NO. DO. NOT. TOUCH. HER!" I screamed impossibly louder. My voice seemed to reach every wall of the school, radiating down every hallway. I didn't care about the consequences anymore. I had nothing to loose.

"YO! Chill out! What are you gonna do, shorty? Mind your own business", He glared at me. An evil look. It still didn't faze me.

"THIS IS MY BUSINESS" I yelled, taking a step closer, right in his face. I felt empowered. Nothing could stop me. "She's MY best friend. YOU will NOT TOUCH HER".

He stepped towards me, filling the gap between us. Embarrassingly, I had to crane my neck. His face was contorted into a look of sheer hate. Evil. His face reminded me of the one thing that COULD faze me. My father. He gave me the exact same look every single day. Every night, just before something terrible happened. Something much more than a hit.

"Walk away while you still can. You ugly bitch. By the way, you're doing a crappy job of being anorexic. You're still the fat lard you were before". He said this, without the bat of an eye. Yet, he wasn't done.

And was he shaking? He seemed so angry, he was vibrating.

"I can see your dad beat you even more. Can't blame him, I'd do the same. God, if I had a daughter like you... She probably wouldn't be alive". He growled, but still smirked at me.

My adrenaline had disappeared. After he said that, all sound was gone. I felt faint, like I was in a dream. Just watching, not really here. All I heard was a faint ringing. I saw some people's mouths, laughing. No sound coming out, at least from what I could hear. I looked back at Ricky. I saw his ugly mouth, insulting me again. But I couldn't hear it. I couldn't hear anything. I felt myself slipping away again. I started to just notice my surroundings that must have been there from the beginning. Everyone from the school was surrounding us. Watching. Their eyes hungered for a good fight. Someone must get hurt for his or her entertainment. It'll make its way around the school. The highlight of the week, and it was only Monday morning.

What an accomplishment.

I felt my arm being pulled back, and I blinked. I turned my head to see Marla, tears streaming down her face. Seeing her tears seemed to set something off inside me, and slowly, as if someone was turning the volume up, I started to hear the riot that surrounded me. I looked at each of their faces. Their eyes on fire as they whipped their head back and forth between Ricky and I. They "oo'd" at the insults that he threw at me. Some laughing so hard, tears were streaming down their faces.

"ANNABELLE" I heard Marla scream at me again. But I was rooted to my spot. I wasn't about to let anyone get the best of me anymore. And I was going to start with Ricky.

My dad, well, that was going to take some more courage.

In the corner of my eye, I saw teachers, and the principle approaching the scene. They -besides Marla- were the only ones with concern in their eyes.

"Annabelle, walk away. Now." I jumped at the sudden closeness. The voice didn't belong to Marla, but I still felt her hands clamped around my arm. The voice belonged to someone's I wanted to hear. Matt.

"Annabelle, please. Before you get hurt even more," He pleaded with me. But I couldn't back down.

"Get her off of me. I need to finish this." My voice croaked, my throat dry. I tried to shake Marla off.

"Ooooo!" The crowd laughed at me. Not believing that I could stand up to someone like Ricky.

I was about to prove them wrong.

I was able to shake Marla off, and she backed away as Matt tried to stop me. I wasn't about to stop. I don't know why they were being so dramatic. Maybe because they knew it would be easy to hurt me. To break me. Especially someone of Ricky's stature. But I was numb. Physically and emotionally. I couldn't care less the consequences of punching him straight in his ugly face.

And that's exactly what I intended to do.

Quickly, I side stepped Matt, trying to get in my way, and took a lengthy step towards Ricky. He smirked, and bent down to my height. Looking me in the face.

"Go little girl. Do it." He had a full out grin now "I dare you"

And so I did.

Like a flash, I brought my fist back and forced it forward. I felt my knuckles come in contact with the peak of his nose, and I felt the shudder shake my bones all the way to my shoulder. It brought everything out of me. I put everything into that punch. All emotions. Sadness, hatred, and memories. And anger. Anger at everyone. My father, Ricky, and every person watching me do this. Rooting for Ricky. Hoping he'd do something back. But he didn't. He held his nose -that to my surprise, was bleeding- and he looked me straight in the eyes, as he said the words that made everything crumble around me. Made the crowd go silent- for once. Made the teachers stop trying to take control of the situation. Made Marla and Matt freeze. Made me almost start bawling, and my body have the most painful numbness I've ever experienced.

"Paul! Finish this!"

Paul. So much worse than Ricky. Paul was absolutely massive. About twice the height of me- 7 something feet, and a billion times muscle and weight. He seemed to be nothing but muscle. And rage. He started all the fights at school. He almost killed a couple people, but always, right before the final fatal hit, he'd be dragged away by the other members of his gang, shaking, towards the forest line that surrounded the school.

I saw him- already shaking- emerge from the crowd. Ricky was one of his best friends. Anyone who attempts to mess with Ricky, gets the sheer pleasure of dealing with Paul. Because, Ricky was a dog with all bark, and no bite. Though, he almost broke that with Marla. Maybe Paul wasn't here yet. Who knows?

But he's here now.

He only had to take two steps towards me, to be right in my face. Because he was so much taller than me, he couldn't get the full-on terror effect. He motioned for Ricky to go behind me, and he lifted me up from under my arms.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

Ricky lifted me up easily. Like he was lifting up a pencil. He lifted me until I was face-to-face level with Paul.

"You asked for this" Paul said, looking at the ground, shaking his hands. Prancing. Warming his huge muscles up for the ultimate punch.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes up, the same time I did.

And that's when my heart started burning. A good type of burning- if that makes sense. My stomach filled with butterflies, and he seemed to smile.

And I felt myself smile too.

Why the hell were we smiling?

"Put her down," Paul whispered, his voice gone.

"But Paul..." Ricky whined.

"PUT HER DOWN," Paul boomed, anger geared towards Ricky.

Ricky reluctantly set me on my feet. Everyone around us was shell-shocked. I couldn't even begin to know what they were thinking. Hell, I didn't even know what I was thinking.

"NO!" Paul growled. Rage filling his face. I was confused, until it hit me.

Literally.

Ricky had still been standing behind me. And, because Paul wouldn't finish me, he decided to. With a grunt, he swung his fist- with as much force as he could muster- to the back of my neck, where my skull began.

I felt the crack, and the sheer, unbearable pain rip through every inch of my body.

And I couldn't take it. I fell forwards, and completely blacked out.

Into the arms of Paul Lahote.


	3. Chapter 3 The End of the Good

**I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD! I can't express how sorry I am for taking like, 2 months to update. I put the 'pro' in 'procrastinator' ;).**

**Warning; This chapter is very angsty, depressing, and involves a lot of violence. Please tell me if I should change the rating, or anything. I personally don't think it's that bad, lol. I recently have become obsessed with Criminal Minds (I might make a fic for that), and well, you can see which part might come from that, lol.**

When things don't go the way you had planned out in your head, you start to think of the alternative outcomes. What would have happened if I did something different? If they did something different? Would it have turned out for the better? Or, for the worse?

"Maybe we should call her parents?"

Maybe if I hadn't hit him, and tried to make an escape, I wouldn't have had to face Paul. Would the outcome have been worse? I mean, Paul smiled at me, in his eyes I saw flashes of concern, outrage, -though not at my expense-, lust, protectiveness, and the biggest, love. I don't know what all this meant.

"She only has her father, we should call him"

What did it mean? That what I did was right? Humiliating myself in front of my peers? The school faculty? Was that the best outcome that I could possibly get out of the situation?

"What's the number?"

He seemed genuinely concerned about my well-being after Ricky hit me. Was that hit fatal? I don't know. Fatal. Death. I felt an exhilarating sense of happiness overcome me. I felt as if I were on cloud nine. Floating above everyone. Everything. If I could move, I think I'd be smiling. But this sense of motionless was welcomed. I didn't panic. I let everything go. I didn't fight for my life. Was it even my life anymore? It was overrun by everyone else. I was just the poor spectator, held hostage. Forced to watch as my sad excuse for a life unraveled for the worse.

"Don't," I whispered. "Please,"

I heard voices. I didn't want to hear voices. And at this moment, they were saying one of the worst things. Something -and I couldn't stress it enough- that I never wanted to hear of again. Wanted to forget it. Escape it, at all costs. My father. Those two words sent a shock through me. I knew - I had to face the terrible fact- that I was still alive. No. Not alive. Alive implies you're living life. I'm still here. Still...stuck.

"Annabelle? Hunny? Can you open your eyes?"

No, I wanted to say. Opening my eyes seemed like accepting defeat. Giving in.

"Please sweetie, open your eyes"

No.

"Annabelle?"

I can't.

"Call her father"

DON'T.

"Already on it"

"NO!" I yelled. Out loud now. I opened my eyes, as I shot up in a sitting position. I felt searing pain. Everywhere. Like someone was stabbing me with long needles in hundreds of different places. I looked around for someone who might be making my nightmare impossibly worse. Someone with a phone. The people in the room gasped, and with realization, I saw that I was in a hospital room.

I really believed I was still in the school corridor.

Or better yet, dead.

Alas, I was still alive. In a hospital room. With many nurses trying to settle me down. The needles I thought that were being stabbed into me, where in fact being pulled out, by my erupt movement. I saw the places where the needles where, sticking into my arm, making the self-inflicted cuts even more noticeable to the people who had no business seeing them. The tubes, of which I haven't felt before, where torn out of my nostrils, now behind me.

I didn't care. Not about the faces- shocked beyond belief- that surrounded me.

Not even that one of those spectators to my little drama scene was the one and only Paul Lahote.

The biggest problem here, and the most potent situation, was the contact someone wanted to make with my father.

"Do. Not. Call. My. Father." I said. The words came in their own little sentences, not only to sound more intimidating so they would listen, but because it was hard to breathe. As soon as I sat up, I suddenly came into realization of my injuries. My neck ached, and a shooting bolt of pain zigzag throughout my body as I tried to move it. My head felt like a hundred pounds, making everything hazy. It felt like a million pinpricks where trying to get out, while simultaneously occupying a dull, every so often thud of terrifying pain. The pain resembled knocking your skull off of the pavement, when you were standing on something high up, just moments before.

"Damn it, what the hell?" I grumbled, sandwiching my head between my hands, as if holding it together.

"I've got a hold of Byrants' father, he's on his way," a voice came from the doorway.

Kill me.

Everyone around me turned to stare. I blushed, hating being the spotlight, only now realizing the commotion I had made, the spectacle of myself. I slowly slid my hands from the side of my face, to the front, trying to hide. Hide from everyone's accusing, confused looks that were stationed at me. The nurses- as I noted that there where more than one there- looked flustered, still focused on the fact that I pulled my needles out. The bastard in the doorway, who looked nonchalant, but suddenly taking in the faces, and situation before him. The occasional nosey person who would walk by behind the bastard, peeking in. Looking at me. Maria, and Matt, watching. Maria crying. Matt angry.

And, Paul's face.

Peeking through my fingers, I took in his face. It was hard to pinpoint an exact description, or estimation, of what was going on inside his head. His face contorted into a mixture of pain, love, worry, and regret.

Why? Why was he here? Why did he look like he cared?

"Where are my clothes?" I asked, "I want my clothes,"

The question caused blank stares and confused looks my way.

But hell, I hated this stupid hospital gown. It brought back too many memories. Memories that I have worked too hard, too long to forget, to have them thrown back in my face in an instant. They were too much to think about. The worst pain I could feel -mentally, emotionally, and physically. Something as small as the hospital gown could make my heart drop to my stomach, and tears spring to my eyes, sweat building up, and making me shake erratically. That, and the smell of the too clean room, the being surrounded by whiteness, everyone staring at you, the beeping of machines, the blue uniforms of the doctors and nurses, the stethoscopes slung around their necks, and the clipboards hugged in between their chests and forearms, documenting the patients every move. As if we were lab rats. Experiments.

Everything swirled around me. The memories of that one dreadful day, the day that ended the good, and started the bad.

* * *

*Flashback*

February 25th, 2002. 10:00pm.

"This little light of mine"

I tapped my short little fingers against my booster seat armrest. Looking out of my window, the scenery flashing by.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

I smiled. I laughed. My eyes squinting, being pushed up by the teeth exposing smile on my face.

"This little light of mine"

My little feet kicked with anticipation. My hands gripped my car seats armrests.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

One more, I thought. Clapping my hands together, laughing excitedly.

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine"

My turn, here we go!

"LE-IT SHINE LE-IT SHINE LE-IT SHIIIINE!" I yelled, finally. Clapping wildly afterwards, kicking the seat in front of me, pushing my bum up slightly from my seat.

My mom and I both laughed. I, with a squeal, 5-year-old giggle, and my mom, with a beautiful, loving laugh. I looked up to the rear-view mirror, and met her sky blue eyes, gleaming with pride and adoration as she met my own eyes. Everyone said I looked so much like her. Every time someone said that, I felt so happy. So proud, that I would grow up to look like my mommy. She was so beautiful. My 5-year-old mind knew that she was the most beautiful person in the whole entire town. The WORLD even. I told her this so many times. She always told me that I was just as beautiful, if not more. She said that when I grow up, I'm going to give her a run for her money-whatever that meant.

She always spoke about how I would be when I grew up. She said I could be famous. I could do whatever I wanted, and be happy. Happy. She said we'd be the happiest family on earth, with a hard working daddy, a beautiful little girl, and a mommy who loves them so very much.

Little did I know, my future was going to be the complete opposite.

Looking out of my window in the back seat of our family's red, 4 door Pontiac Sunfire, I took in my surroundings. Because of my vivid imagination, I was scared of what I saw.

We were driving down a long road, on our way home from my mom's friend's house. We left later than expected, wanting to be home before it was dark. But I was having so much fun with her 7-year-old daughter, Penny. She was two years older than me, and I marveled at having an older friend. I got my mom to stay an hour later than when she wanted to leave at 5, giving her the puppy dog eyes, and doing my specialty, sucking up. She gave in. She was also having fun with her friend, who she hasn't seen in a long time.

An hour turned into five, and that's when I started to get sleepy. I made my mother aware, and she was surprised at how late it was. 10 o'clock already!

"You could stay the night," my mom's friend offered, "I don't like the idea of you two out there by yourselves at this late hour."

"Thanks, sweetie. But I've got to go to work at six tomorrow morning." She declined, "Besides, Ryan would be worried sick, wondering where we were."

"Alright. You drive safe, Arianna! Goodbye Annabelle, sweet cheeks!" She bellowed from the front porch, as we made our way to our car.

"Buh-bye!" I yelled back, giving them a big, toothy grin, and a two handed wave.

And now here we were. Driving down a deserted road, no other cars passing. It was so dark outside. I searched for the moon, but it was hiding behind the heavy clouds.

"Momma, is it going to rain?" I asked, still peering out my window.

"I think so, baby."

"Momma it's too dark, I'm scared"

"Don't be scared hunny-bunches, we'll be home soon. Why don't you go to sleep, and before you know it, you'll be awake in the morning in your own bed, yeah?" She glanced up to the rear view mirror, smiling warmly.

BOOM!

I screamed, unable to hold it in.

BOOM! The thunder rang in my ears, the lightning suddenly filling my vision. Rain beat down onto the wind shield, the roof of the car, and the windows.

BOOM!

I screamed again.

"Annabelle! Sweetie! The thunder can't hurt you, it's just a noise!"

I whimpered.

"Smile, AnnaBallerina. Look at me, and smile,"

I couldn't help but smile at her.

I saw the crinkling in the corners of her eyes from her smile in the rear view mirror.

Abruptly, they turned into the size of my fists.

I felt as if I were inside of a speaker on high volume. The noise was deafening, unable to hear my own scream, or my mom's. I didn't stop looking at her face in the mirror. I couldn't. I couldn't move. I saw her inexplicable horror. I saw her screaming. I saw her crying. I saw her eyes go blood red as veins popped in them.

I felt nothing. No pain.

It felt as if our little car has been in the air forever. Turning, spinning, flipping, turning, spinning, flipping.

We stopped. Upside down. We stopped.

Then all noise went silent. I saw everything through my little toddler eyes. I saw the horror unravel in front of me, something no one- ever -should have to see first hand.

No noise of the horror around me.

Only my mother's voice, singing softly in my head.

"This little light of mine"

I saw her mouth moving. Yelling. Crying. Her eyes wider than they should be able to be.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

I saw her head touching the roof of the car, her neck bent at a scary angle. Her bloody, broken arms trying at a feeble attempt to push herself away.

"This little light of mine"

I saw the drivers side door being ripped open, a hairy man's arm reach in. He had a knife, and cut my mommy's seatbelt. He grabbed my poor, screaming, defenseless mommy, and ripped her out of the car by her slim torso.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

I felt someone else grab me, squeezing me too hard. Pulling me too fast. I felt some strands of my long, blonde hair being pulled out, being trapped in the wreckage.

"This little light of mine"

I was set out, away from the car. Able to see the horrific scene in front of me, in full view. I saw the monster truck that hit us. I saw our very little red car, so very wrecked. It looked like a big foot stepped on it.

And I saw my mommy, lying not too far away from me.

"I'm gonna let it shine"

One man was sitting on my mommy, her screaming being muffled by the blood coming from her mouth. Blood, tears, mixing with the pouring rain. I wanted to go to her. To help her. Another man was holding me back. But I couldn't move. I couldn't even try.

"Let it shine"

I screamed. I screamed. I cried, and I screamed.

"MOMMY DON'T DIE!"

"MOMMY I NEED YOU!"

"Let it shine"

He stabbed her. Once in the leg. Once in the tummy. Once in the arm. Once in the chest.

And then her face. He scarred her once beautiful, innocent face. Now, her face was contorted. Unrecognizable. I saw her once vibrant blue eyes dull. Still looking at me. Her eyes saying what she can't.

"I'm sorry"

"Let it shine"

The horrible sounds came back.

"What's the matter, little girl?" The man holding me said, "Not having fun?"

"MOMMY," I screamed, pointing at her. The tears didn't stop. They filled my eyes, making it impossible to see. I started to feel the pain. I felt the broken bones, the scratches and cuts covering my body. Blood mixing with my tears as they both rain down my face. The raindrops providing a somewhat soothing effect. I focused on my mother. The raindrop entering her body, the stab wounds as an entrance.

"Smile, AnnaBallerina. Look at me, and smile,"

"Smile, AnnaBallerina. Look at me, and smile,"

With one last blood-curling scream, everything went black.

* * *

"This is all YOUR fault, Annabelle."

"It should have been YOU."

"She was so beautiful, I can't believe she thought I loved you. I only loved her. Not you, her. I only pretended to love you for her sake."

"Daddy?"

"Shut up, you little brat."

I started crying in my hospital gown. Trying to sit up in the bed of white, too big for my already too petite body. When I succeeded, I pushed my messy hair out of my tear-streaked face with balled up fists.

I felt angry. Terrified. Exhausted. And there wasn't a descriptive enough word out there to explain how sad I felt.

I just wanted a hug from my daddy. So I reached for him, longing for a tight embrace from my hero, my role model.

But he pushed me away. He gave me a disgusted look.

"Don't," he started, "Your mother is DEAD because of you. YOU. It should have been YOU that died. NOT ARIANNA,"

He yelled. He had never, ever yelled at me.

Then, he brought his hand up, and brought it back down, with a sharp impact onto my face. I had never been hit before. Never even a spanking to my bottom for bad behavior. The unexpected hit made me screech out crying, feeling my face burn from the slap.

With tears in his eyes, he stood up, turned, and left the room with a slam to the door.

That was the day my mommy died. The day my real father emerged. The last day that he cried, and the beginning of the hits, the abuse.

The day all the good ended, and all the bad started.

**Read, Review, and Enjoy! I promise that it won't take me this long to update again, sorry! Oh, and by the way, there will be A LOT more Paul in the next chapter. You know, actually getting into the Twilight-ness, and imprinting and love and blah blah blah. THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS, FOLLOWS, AND FAVS!**


	4. Chapter 4

**HEY... *hides from flying tomatoes* I'M SO SORRY. I seriously have no excuse for leaving it so long to update. In all honesty, I'm not very proud of this chapter, even though it took me FOREVER to write. The next chapter should be better, but bare with me for now, alright? I haven't really had much time to edit, so I'm very sorry. The next chapter will be MUCH better, don't hate me :( and please, don't give up on this story! Please review!**

* * *

"75 pounds," the nurse looked at me, sceptical.

"Liar," I accused, astonished. I weighed myself ..last night? A few nights ago? I don't remember. But I remember the number. The glaring three-digit number. 100. Not 75. 100. I stepped off the scale.

"Annabelle, I'm telling the truth. The scale never lies,"

Oh, I know.

"But...I weigh myself every night...I..." I stuttered, "I was a hun-hundred pounds"

I tried to turn my head towards the door, something I've been doing a lot since I woke up. But, alas, I was restricted. As a result of Ricky's last-minute attack, I was held in place by a neck-brace-type-thing. They said they this was only temporary, that there wasn't much physical damage. The "neck support" that I was wearing rested on my shoulders, and a makeshift spine going up the back of my neck. It was ugly, and uncomfortable.

'It'll only hurt for a while,"

'You're lucky you're alive'

Yeah, right.

"Annabelle stop moving," the nurse scolded me for the 5th time.

All was silent for a while as she wrote down some of my information on a clipboard, slowly shaking her head., tsk'ing, and every so often looking me up and down. Who was she to be judgemental? Who was she to say what I was doing wasn't right? Does she know me? Sure she knows my weight and medical information, but she doesn't know me. She doesn't know anything that's important. She knows nothing, yet she judges me. Not that I care. She can judge me, anyone can judge me, but they'd never know the truth. Why should they care? They don't. No one does.

"Why did you freak when you woke up? Why don't you want to have your dad with you?"

Her whole demeanour changed when she spoke up, interrupting my thoughts. Suddenly, she looked like she cared. Suddenly, she looked as if she knew my whole life story.

"Why do you care?" In all honesty, I knew I was being rude. I wasn't normally, but things weren't normally about me, or at least this personal. And, her question caught me off guard.

She shrugged.

"I don't like this hospital, or any hospital for that matter" It wasn't a lie. "It brings back... memories"

I wasn't about to tell her anything. I haven't told anyone. Well, that's not true. I've told Marla, and I think she told Matt. But I'm okay with them knowing. Obviously my dad knows. And the police know. The police know, but I don't think they care. They did, but not anymore. They wanted to know who the people were. Those...monsters. They weren't even human. Those things who killed my mother -and worse- let me live through it.

"And your dad?" Her eyes bored into mine.

"He...I'm not too fond of him."

She nodded slightly, and started to exit the room.

"By the way," she started, "your boyfriend is with your dad and your friend outside in the waiting room. You can let them in when you're ready."

She shut the door behind her.

I let out a deep breath, and slowly stumbled over to the bed. My neck hurt, my head hurt, my stomach, everything hurt.

I-wait. Did she say boyfriend?

I couldn't get the word through my head. Boyfriend? I walked up to the door, and peeked through the crack.

Paul?

He wasn't even a friend. I've never spoken to him. He was merely a stranger, someone I heard of in other people's whispered conversations. Someone who girls drooled over. Someone who had the worse reputation, and yet the best. Someone who wasn't even an acquaintance to me.

Suddenly, I felt a tug at my heart. I felt numb, a painful numbness that seemed to radiate throughout my entire body. It wasn't a medical pain, more like a mental, an emotional pain. I felt as if I were missing something. Something like a vital organ. If I didn't have it, I wouldn't survive.

I sighed, and, hesitantly, I creaked the door open.

"Marla, could you come in?"

My words seemed to have a different effect on all three people sitting in the uncomfortable- looking blue chairs outside of my door. Marla looked worried, but relieved that I have picked her. My father looked furious. I've wasted his day, forcing him to be here. He wanted to keep up the charade of "the good father", who was "always there for his little girl". And Paul...Paul looked like he just watched his family being murdered right in front of his eyes. He looked so worried. He looked as if he were to be sick. He looked heartbroken, maybe because I didn't ask him to come in. And the most prominent feature of his entire physique? He was shaking. Uncontrollably. Vibrating, his features becoming a blur.

I took a step forward. It was literately hurting my heart to see him so sad, he almost looked fragile. Silly, because he was so huge.

He took a step back.

That hurt more than anything I could've imagined.

The thought of Paul being disgusted by me, and everything else that was going on, I stumbled, and fell to my knees. Waiting for the impact of the hard, cold floor to meet my already carved skin.

"Don't touch her, Paul"

And yet, there he was. Holding me, not shaking anymore, not even a bit.

Quickly, I put my feet on the floor, and walked backwards, into Marla. Grabbing her arm, I spun around, stocking towards the still-open door of my hospital room.

"Let's go Marla" I whispered, casting my eyes towards the floor, "everything hurts"

* * *

"But WHY" I repeated myself, yelling now. I've asked my gym teacher about 5 times, why I couldn't participate in gym. "I'm FINE!" I gestured with my hands to my body, "I got my brace off, they said it wasn't too bad!"

"Annabelle, I'm not an idiot", she rolled her eyes, "I know you took it off without permission."

With that, I turned sharply, and joined the rest of the class doing laps around the gym. I glared the teacher down as I rounded the corner, almost colliding into someone.

"Sorry", I apologized to the girl, forgetting her name, as I turned my attention to the ground.

"Don't worry about it... Hey!"

I had started to walk away, when she grabbed my arm.

"That was pretty cool how you stood up to Ricky like that. I mean, to even think about it, that was pretty ballsy"

I smiled, "Thanks. I was really just standing up for Marla... And obviously it came with some consequences.."

She laughed, "I was watching... I mean, I didn't want to... It looked like something was going to start... And my friends, they.. They wanted to watch...", she looked ashamed, not meeting my eyes.

"Hey, it's alright. The whole school was there." I rolled my eyes, "I don't blame you.".

"I..." She started, as the school bell rang, signalling 5 minutes to next period, "..have to go, sorry" she grinned, and trotted off to the girl's change room, "I'm Kim, by the way!"

"bye..." I whispered to myself, rubbing my throbing neck.

* * *

"ANNABELLE"

"Annabelle, baby, it's gonna be alright"

"AAAANNABELLE"

"Don't worry sweetie"

Squeezing my eyes shut, I kept walking towards my locker.

This little light of mine.

"Hey!"

I'm gonna let it shine.

"Hey," I heard, as I felt a hand fall on my shoulder.

I spun around, going blind for a moment, due to the excruciating pain in my neck, and saw Marla jumping at my total obliviousness of my best friend's presence.

"What is WITH you," she stared at me, "you're so jumpy, and like, ignoring everyone who calls you!"

"Sorry, I..." I searched for an excuse, "Have a lot going on..."

Marla shrugged, as she reached over and unlocked the lock on my locker.

"We're gonna be late to class if you don't..." She gasped, staring off behind me.

"Marla?"

"No. Way."

I took a step back and turned my head -painfully- towards Marla's speculation.

And here comes Paul.

"Hey"

That 'hey' was so simple. So easy. So... not forced.

So perfect.

"Hi?", it came out more as a question than a statement. But it was just that, a question. Why was he talking to me? Why was he even acknowledging me? Haven't I embarrassed him enough?

"How.. um, how are you?"

"I'm fine"

My usual answer to everything.

"I..." he rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly at a loss for words.

I took this opportunity to glance at Marla, who has been silent this whole encounter. She, just as I was, was completely shocked. A million questions passed through her eyes, unanswered and unresolved.

I just shrugged my shoulders and turned my attention back to Paul.

"Annabelle," The name sounded beautiful coming from his mouth, "could I, uh, get your number?"

I laughed.

I probably shouldn't have laughed, but I did. It felt good to laugh, but not in this instance.

"What?" I said through giggles, "what... what did you just say?"

"I uh.. asked for your number," he replied, a confused look in his eyes.

"No," I continued giggling, "no, no you can't have it."

"Annabelle," Marla hissed at me.

I spun around, "What?" Laughter bubbling out of my mouth, "Are you serious?"

I looked at both of them

"Oh come on!" I doubled over, "This is some stupid joke,"

"Annabelle, I don't think he's jo-"

"No, he asks for my number, I give it to him, and then he gives it to all of his stupid little friends. Then, they all harass me. Oh, I can see it now, "anorexic freak" "Did your dad knock you out again?  
"No. I'm not gonna go through that Mar, not again."

"Annabelle, I'm sorry..."

"For what, Paul?" I started raising my voice. Oh well, my reputation as already down the toilet, "what could YOU possibly be sorry for?"

"I... Don't know," he hung his head, searching in my eyes for an answer.

"SO YOU DON'T KNOW," I stated the obvious.

Turning around, I slammed my locker shut, leaving the books I needed locked inside.

"Annabelle, I'm sorry for.. For anything. For everything. I'm so, so sorry,"

"You can't be sorry," tears started the well up in my eyes, "you can't just say sorry. Sorry means nothing. Sorry means forget about it. Forgive me. I don't want to be in trouble. Toddlers say sorry when their mom's catch them doing something bad. Not because they know it was wrong, but because they don't want to be in trouble. Chances are, they're gonna do it again. Chances are, you're gonna do it again. Chances are, you're not gonna change,"

"Anna-"

"Screw you, Paul," my voice started to escalate. Marla grabbed onto my arm, tugging me down the hallway, staying quiet, "SCREW. YOU."

I watched Paul's face as I descended down the hallway. I watched how torn, how broken, how... Dead he looked.

Knowing I hurt him brought back the same pain I felt at the hospital. Emotionally ripped to shreds.

But I'm so used to this. Used to being emotionally broken, on my own account.

Marla and I reached the bathroom, that was almost empty. She turned towards me with a shocked, cold glare.

"WHAT WAS THAT," she half-whispered.

"What?"

"You... You turned down Paul LAHOTE,"

"Mar! You do realised he TORMENTED me for 10 YEARS right?!"

"I-"

"Besides," I cut her off, "he's NOT legit. He's doing this as some kind of joke. A sick, twisted friggen JOKE,"

"But what if he's not."

She said it so matter-of-factly. So soft, quiet, calm.

What if he's not.

"I can't just believe that he'd change like that,"

* * *

"Alright class," Ms. Pearson clapped her hands excitedly, "we're going to write a poem!"

I sat up a little straighter, as the rest of the class groaned.

"Fine," she shrugged, "we're going to write TWO poems!"

The groaning increased even more, and I smiled. I loved writing poems, and the misery of the class could possibly benefit me. I liked this teacher's spunk.

"Alright, quiet!" She yelled, "this is English class, we learn to read and write poetry. I am the teacher, therefore I make the rules. It's in the curriculum, care to see it?"

Silence filled the room.

"That's what I thought," she and few students laughed," now, I want one of the poems to be about an issue. An occurring mental issue like... Depression, any mental health issues, eating disorders, self-mutilation... Whatever."

Wow, this is too ironic..

She paused and looked around at the slightly interested faces of her students.

"The point is, I was it to be inspirational. I want it to be...motivational. I want you to put yourself in their shoes,"

There was a loud knock on the door.

"I'm teaching a lesson, you inconsiderate - hello!" She smiled, as she opened the door and earned a few giggles around the room.

"Hey, um, Ms.P, I uh, switched into this class,"

I had been doodling on my notebook, zoning out of Ms. Pearson's interruption, but I had dropped my pencil in shock when I heard the deep voice in the doorway.

"I'm really sorry to interrupt," Paul said, secretly unapologetic.

"I.. Paul, this is a grade 10 course, you're in grade 12, no?"

"Yeah, but I uh, I... Had a spare period, and I.." He scratched his head, looking around the room for a lie to appear, "I didn't do so hot in grade 10 english, and my guidance counsellor said I could up my mark a bit if I take it again and-"

"Alright, alright, take a seat. Any empty seat,"

Thank the Lord there wasn't an empty seat beside me.

Paul walked into the sea of staring eyes as he found a seat in front of me, a few people over. He turned his head, flashed me a cocky smile, and turned his attention back to the front of the room. Eventually everyone else pried their eyes away, and looked back at the teacher, who was patiently waiting.

"Paul, you can get the notes from today's class either off of someone in the class, or from me tomorrow, alright?"

"Yes ma'am"

Ms. Pearson went on with her lesson, switching from the assignment, to Shakespeare. Why are we even learning about Shakespeare? Dude's dead. He wrote fiction. The end.

Losing interest, I quickly ripped out a full piece of paper from my notebook and scribbled one of many questions I had for the perfect piece of annoyance sitting in front of me.

'Why are you doing this'

I brought the paper down to my lap, and slowly, almost silently, crumpled the paper down to a makeshift snowball.

Then, with all my force, I threw it at the back of his perfect head.

It's true, a few days ago, I would never even have imagine doing that to Paul Lahote. Never in my life could I muster up that kind of courage.

He seemed to have known it was coming, but he didn't try to stop it. As soon as it hit his head, he turned, flashed a grin at me, bent down, and retrieved it from the floor. I made sure to keep my poker face straight, to not falter under his staggering smile.

I watched the back of his head and his hands as he unravelled the paper containing the one chicken-scratched sentence under the table, out of the view of the hawk-eyed teacher. I snickered as he snatched the pencil out of the kid's hand beside him, and wrote his reply. He crumpled it up again, and gently placed it back on my desk.

He couldn't have just thrown it, like it did?

_'What am I doing?'_

I rolled my eyes, and picked up my pencil. I straightened out the paper a bit more before I replied,

_'You know what. Suddenly being nice, following me to my class,'_

I drummed my fingers before I hesitantly wrote down my next answer,

_'And you better not be in my other classes,'_

I crumpled it in my hands and threw it back on his desk, completely missing his head this time.

He replied with the pencil of the now pissed off, but too intimidated to say anything, kid beside him.

_'I just wanna talk to you. I seriously don't know why you hate me'_

_'You and Ricky made my life HELL since grade 1. Don't say you don't know, it was your fav thing to do'_

_'I regret it. I am so sorry. We bullied everyone'_

And then, he replied with my favourite line.

_'I've changed. I'm not like that anymore.'_

_'Right. Why would you just CHANGE then? What happened?'_

_'I can't tell you'_

_'Please. Please tell me. I can't trust you, unless you have a legit reason for not bs'ing me '  
_  
He seemed torn when he got the last reply, and turned around. He stared into my pleading eyes, crinkling his eyebrows in pain.

"Please. Let me earn your trust back. Let me prove to you that I really want to make things right," he whispered, giving up on the note, slipping it into his pocket.

I don't want to get hurt again, I wanted to tell him. I can't trust anyone.

"Fine," I hope I don't regret this, "please..."

He knew what I meant, and he nodded his head.

"By the way, how's your neck?" He said, in complete pain, as if it were his neck.

"Oh, it's fine,"

"AHEM, and Ms. Bryant and Mr. Lahote! Care to share?"

"No miss," Paul flashed her that staggering smile, a little to much of the sucking-up.

* * *

My next class, science, Paul was already in there, sitting beside the seat I usually sit. I wasn't exactly expecting him to be here. He couldn't be this creepy. I tried to catch his eyes, but he stayed looking down, writing on the desk. I took a deep breath, feeling as if I was about to have a panic attack. I wasn't exactly ready to warm up to Paul yet.

Even that sentence sent chills down my spine.

I walked over to my stool, and sat down, plopping my bag on the desk.

"Hey,"

"Hey," I smiled, forcing it only a bit, because I was so nervous.

The bell rang, starting the class off.

I pulled my phone out below the table, and sent a text to Matt.

'Now'

"Alright class, today, we're going to be continuing the note from yesterday, learning about the stages of mitosis. Now, remember PMAT-"

There was a knock on the door.

"Is this gonna happen every class?," Paul mumbled.

I giggled. That seemed to lighten up his entire face, grinning ear from ear. I felt warm inside, knowing that I did that. I rarely had a positive impact like that on someone like that, and I couldn't help but giggle a little bit more.

"The principle needs Annabelle Bryant immediately, her father has been in an accident," I heard Matt's voice come from the door.

"Oh my God, I'm coming with you," Paul said with an overly panicked voice.

"It's a ruse, skipping for a bit," I whispered back. I took a moment to search his eyes, "don't worry?" I said more as a question.

He nodded, and settled back down. He seemed disappointed, and a little sad.

Quickly, I looked at the teacher, "I'm sorry Miss, but I need to see if my father's alright," I said in a faux panicky voice, rushing.

"Yes, yes go Annabelle, best wishes!" She said, and I rushed through the door.

I jogged through the door as Matt held it open, a set look on his face. He shut it, and stuck his hands in his pockets, walking beside me down the hallways, towards the rear entrance.

I took a moment to study him. Matt has always been tall, but he seemed to be getting taller. He had a bit of muscle before, but now he seemed to have been working out, bulking up. Now that I think about it, he seemed to have been getting a lot bigger than I had imagined. He looked over at me, as we made our way through the heavy doors leading outside. His deep brown eyes studying me, accusingly. What did I do? I put a hand on his arm. He was burning up.

"Hey, are you sick?" I asked, concerned.

"No. We need to talk," he said, in a flat voice.

Oh my God. Matt is usually upbeat and happy. He was way too serious. We sat down under a tree, and I brought my knees up to my chest, hugging them. I was freezing. Matt scooted closer to me.

"You cold?" He asked, worry etched on his face.

I was, but his body heat seemed to be radiating towards me, warming me up.

"What's wrong with you, Matt. You're too serious, it's not like you," I frowned, not liking where this was going.

"No, Annabelle, what's wrong YOU. You seem to have forgotten what took place a couple days ago! We need to talk about this!"

"I'm TRYING to forget, Matt! What is there to talk about?"

"You're anorexic," He said blatantly, outright.

I studied his face, "no."

His face became red, he jumped up, and I felt the cold being reintroduced to my side.

"DON'T LIE TO ME, ANNABELLE. I was at the hospital, I SAW your bones, I SAW the hundreds of CUTS. I SAW the bruises. I SAW what you ARE!"

He started shaking, and I froze.

'I SAW WHAT YOU ARE'

Tears sprang to my eyes as I looked down, "and what am I, Matt. What am I now?"

"I-"

"I've been like this for a while, Matt. I'm alive," I swallowed, "I'm not any different than two months ago,"

"Annabelle, you're..."

"I'm what?"

"You're dying"

"I'm not"

"You are, do you see what you're doing?"

"IT'S NOT ME," I yelled.

We were silent for a while, just looking back at the ground.

"You know what I don't understand?" He whispered.

I looked at him, whipping tears from my cheeks. He was still looking down.

"What," I whispered back, my voice cracking, a sniffle coming after.

He heard, and closed his eyes, dropping his head again.

"Why they let you out,"

"You make it sound like I was locked up in jail or an insane asylum," I sighed, and he looked up apologetically, "I don't know. I think my dad convinced them that he'll take care of me. They told me to go back for a 'check up', as if I'm 5," I coughed, " and I need to follow their 'schedule'" I coughed again.

"Hey, you okay?" He said, etched concern on his face.

I kept coughing, "I'm ... Fine" I said in between breaths.

"You're getting sick," he pulled off his hoodie, handing it to me, "here, with your condition, you're susceptible to getting really sick."

"It's not," I coughed, "a condition" I said, as I pulled his extremely oversized hoodie over my head.

"Hey, what about your neck... Ya know, when Ricky hit you?"

"Oh yeah, they said I have a fractured skull and-"

"What?! Don't you need a brace?"

"Uh, I left it at home..."

"Annabelle-" he gave me a stern look, but sighed, "so what does that mean?"

"Uh, they said I have a minor concussion, and like, have 'post concussion symptoms for years' as in balance problems, headaches - which I kinda have right now, so lower your voice, man- nausea, panic attacks, etcetera..."

"That's...terrible," he muttered.

"It's whatever,"

He rolled his eyes, and helped me up. We started walking up towards the school, when he asked the dreaded question:

"Why do you do it?" He stopped, putting his hand on my shoulder, looking me deep in the eyes, "why?"

I sighed, looking up at him, as he towered over me. I could see the pain in his eyes, tears were actually forming.

"Because I need to," I sniffled, "are you crying?"

"No,"

"Liar,"

He started shaking, "WHY DO YOU DO IT," he yelled, loud enough to be heard inside the school, "YOU NEED TO STOP, YOU DON'T NEED TO DO IT,"

"Matt, chillax dude," I tried to reason, "you're shaking?"

"WHAT IF YOU DIE," he yelled, I heard the door bang open a few feet away, "YOU CAN'T DIE,"

He started vibrating so bad, he was becoming a blur. Then, he growled.

He literally growled, like some kind of dog.

"Matt, damn it, calm down," I put my hand on his arm, "you're scaring me!" I raised my voice.

"Annabelle, back up!" I heard Paul's strained voice yelling from behind me, putting one huge hand on my shoulder, the other supported the back of my neck, forming a warm brace, it was so comfortable, I didn't want him to move it. He started dragging me back a few feet.

"What's happening!" Matt yelled, bringing his vibrating hands to his face, "YOU CAN'T DIE!" He brought his hands back down, glaring at me again.

I felt Paul's hands tense up and stiffen at Matt's words, and he brought me closer to his body.

I didn't mind, he was warm, and I was cold, and he was supporting my neck.

"EMBRY, QUIL, JAKE, HANDLE THIS,"

Wait, he's calling his gang.

"NO!" I screamed, I squirmed in Paul's arms, hurting my neck even more, trying to get to Matt, "NO DON'T HURT HIM."

"Annabelle," Paul hushed me.

"PLEASE DON'T," I yelled to his "gang".

I tried another tactic.

I turned around in Paul's arms, "please, stop them. You want to gain my trust, stop them," I said so quickly it was almost unintelligible, "STOP THEM,"

"No, Annabelle, you don't understand. We're not hurting him, they're helping him,"

"I know what you guys do! You HURT PEOPLE,"

Paul looked hurt, "we won't hurt him, Annabelle, please trust me,"

I saw the three humongous men drag a still blurring Matt away, towards the forest line around the school property.

"It doesn't look like I have much of a choice," I sighed, sagging back down from my defensive stature.

Paul chuckled. An airy, slightly humorous chuckle.

"Paul," I looked into his eyes, pleading with him, "promise me they won't hurt him,"

"I swear on my life, Annabelle, they will NOT hurt him. They're only trying to help," he looked to deep into my eyes, grasping both of my shoulders, "I swear to God, trust me."

"I do," what the hell possessed me to trust this man? "I do,"

He smiled at me, looking down at my lips. I swear he was just staring at my lips, as he pursed his.

I was so not ready for this.

Quickly, I took a step back, pulling myself out of his warm protection.

"I...better get back to class..." I muttered, turning around, back into the school.

"What did I do?" I heard him whisper, barley loud enough for me to hear.

"I'm sorry," I whispered back, for some reason, I knew he could hear me, "I can't..."

I didn't know what to say, what to do.

So I left. Running away from situations. It's what I'm best at, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5- Breakeven

**Hey Guys! I wanted to wait until I got a few more reviews, but that didn't happen, and honestly, I'm trying hard to keep to a regular schedule of updating this story! We'll see how well THAT works out..lol. I kind of like this chapter, but it's not my best. I know I said this one would be better than the last, but they're both equal in my eyes! Just as a side note, in most situations, italics mean a flash back.**

**Please review & enjoy!**

* * *

It's now Friday, the day after Paul's attitude  
change, and creeping commenced. It's also the day after Matt freaked out,  
resulting in him being dragged away by Paul's "gang".

_"They're not my 'gang',"_ he said told me, _"we're not  
part of any gang,"_

I didn't believe him. I mean, whenever Paul picked his next victim, it would  
ALWAYS end in him being dragged away by his minions, shaking.

Just like what happened to Matt.

This was all too weird for me, and I couldn't piece anything together. Maybe  
Matt had joined their gang, and took part in some freaky drug they do together,  
that causes him to shake. I don't know really, why would they drag him away? To  
give him some counter acting drug, to keep their activities a secret?

My mind was racing with possibilities as I walked home from school. Paul had  
offered to drive me, but I sure as hell wasn't going to take him up on that. I  
still couldn't hold a normal conversation with him, because it was still beyond  
me as to WHY he suddenly changed, and WHY I suddenly trusted him. Every time I  
see him, I have an internal war with myself. My mind tells me to not trust him.  
Don't believe a single word that comes out of his ugly, abusing, torturous mouth.  
Let's not forget how he bullied you, alongside Ricky for the last ten years of  
your life. But my heart cries at why my mind is saying, as if my mind is  
talking about my heart. He's NOT mean, he's changed! He's beautiful, and  
caring, protective, and loving! That's it! He loves you!

God, I'm going crazy. Completely, and utterly insane.

He doesn't love me, he's trying to be friends. My heart is begging for him to  
love me.

What. The. Hell.

I DON'T want him to love me.

But I do.

I don't even want to befriend him.

But I do.

I don't want him in my life.

But I so do.

My head hurt with the emotions that I was stressing over. I was so confused,  
over what? It should be common sense. I mean, it's my emotions, right? Hardly.

I felt as if someone was controlling my life. As if I were in a game of Sims,  
and some emo, depressing kid was playing me. They decided, 'hey, let's give her  
a stupid life, one that's not really worth living, one where she hates  
everything at 'home', and where she hates everything at school. Let's give her  
conflicting thoughts, where she can't make up her mind, or feelings. AND to put  
the cherry on the cake, let's' make her completely hate herself, and want to  
die every minute. BUT WAIT. Let's make it even BETTER! Let's give her flashbacks  
every 10 minutes of why her life is the way it is, and make her a coward, so  
she'll slowly, slowly kill herself, instead of just ending it all!'

That's it, I'm losing it. Beyond insane.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I was drowning in my tears. I decided I  
couldn't see anymore, and I was slowly but surely, losing energy completely. I  
crossed the road I was walking along, and sat down on the curb, setting my bag  
down beside me. I dropped my head in my hands and just cried.

I cried for what seemed like forever.

I don't want to go home. It's not even a friggen home! The moment I step on the  
driveway, I'm immediately walking on eggshells. I have so many rules I have to  
follow, I can't even remember most of them, they're sewn and carved into my head,  
it's like breathing.

And also like breathing, I just don't want to do it anymore.

I sat there for about another 10 minutes, when I heard a car pull up and stop.  
I've been hearing cars slow down as they passed me, but none of them cared  
enough to stop.

I had a feeling I knew who it was. The rumble of the old truck was all too  
familiar.

"Get in!" I heard the rough yell over the engine roaring," hurry,  
I'm running out of gas!"

I grabbed my bag and without looking, threw it into the bed of the pickup truck.  
I ripped open the passenger side door, and pulled myself up to the seat, that  
seemed higher than it should be. I dropped onto the seat, and brought my knees  
up to my forehead, hiding my tear-streaked face.

Danny was silent for a while. This isn't the first time he's picked my up from the side of the road. He's the only one I know with a car, who won't completely ignore me, and then beat me for calling for a ride. He's used to picking me up from random places, but I seldom call him. Only when it's serious do I call him.

"Thank you," I said, after a long while, muffled by my knees.

"Anytime," he replied, sincerely, "do you want to talk about it?"

There was way too much to just talk about.

"No, I'm okay now," I took a deep, shaky breath, "I just needed to let it out,"

_I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing._

"Are you sure?"

_I pray to a God that I don't believe in_

"Yeah, don't worry about me,"

_'Cause I got time, and he's got freedom._

"Annabelle, talk to me,"

_'Cause when the heart breaks no it don't break even._

He had asked for me to talk to him. I needed someone to talk to. But I didn't want to. Talking would lead to crying, and I can't deal with other people crying.

_"MOMMY!"_

She just kept crying. Crying and screaming. Screaming and crying.

"MOMMY!"

"Sorry, I gotta get gas," he said, as we pulled up to one of the two gas stations in La Push, "I'll be quick"

"No worries," but I was worried. It was 4:45, and I had a lot to do. My father gets home at unexpected times.

_"Annabelle, we need to go home now!"  
_  
_"No mommy, 5 more minutes! Please!"_

I saw Danny through the side mirror, filling up the gas tank while checking his phone.

He's not looking.

The urge was too strong, my body won over my brain.

I shifted my gaze, and saw that he still wasn't looking.

Quickly, I flipped open his glove box and searched. For anything. Anything.

Anything sharp.

My hands caught onto an emergency swiss army knife with a seatbelt cutter, and window smasher.

I flipped open the Swiss army knife, and I didn't think about it.

I didn't think about what I was about to do in my best friend's brother's car.

I didn't think about getting caught.

I didn't think about what the doctors, what Matt, Marla, or Danny had ever said.

I only thought about what my father said. What my father has ever said.

_'You fat bitch'_

'You're going to hell, just for living'

'YOU KILLED YOUR MOTHER'

'Why are you still alive'

'I swear to God, I'm going to kill you, if you don't'

'I don't go a day without thinking of ways to kill you'

'You're ugly'

'You're fat'

'You're an idiot'

'If you live long enough to have a future, it's probably going to be as a prostitute. Only for cheap bastards though, no one I know would pay a cent to even look at you'  
  
I have slit three times, my forearm was bleeding more than usual.

I brought it down one more time, the blade pointing at the starting point, putting pressure on my skin.

The blood from the first three times was running down my to my hand, the tight feeling I had in my chest and stomach, knowing it was going to be released any moment now, when the cut started, I knew I would feel relieved.

Then the passenger door opened with so much force I almost fell out of the car.

But I didn't care.

I needed to feel the relief.

So I put pressure on my arm, and dragged the blade to start cutting.

"ANNABELLE STOP!" Danny yelled, ripping the knife out of my hand.

But I didn't make the last cut yet.

"Give it back" I said, monotone, "give it back"

"No, Annabelle!" He yelled in my face.

"Please," I carried on, "Please. Please. Please"

I whispered 'please' over and over. I couldn't stop. My body was talking. My body was talking, taking control, over running me.

"Please, please, please"

"Please, give it back,"

He stayed quiet. I continued to whisper 'please'. He sat me up, and clicked my seatbelt into place. He slammed the glove box compartment shut with as much force as he used to open my door. I'm surprised it didn't crack.

He slammed the door shut, making me jump. I was aware that I was staring of into space. I was aware that I was repeatedly saying 'please'. I was aware of how numb I was, and how out of control I was. I was in control, but I really wasn't. I fought to take control. I started by going silent.

Danny got in the driver's side, and I caught a glimpse of his face. He was enraged. His face was red and he was shaking. Not anything like Matt or Paul. But he was shaking from anger. Severe, severe anger.

He threw me a rag from the back seat, it landed on my lap. I picked it up, and tied it around the bleeding cuts on my arm. They weren't as bad as what I sometimes could do.

"Danny I'm-" I started

"Don't" he spoke through his teeth, "don't you DARE say you're sorry,"

"I..." I didn't know what to say, "I AM sorry though, I... didn't want you to... to see..." I trailed off.

"Save it," he still wasn't looking at me, "I'm taking you to the damn hospital,"

That gave me complete control back. My brain ran.

As did my heart.

"No," I whispered, out of breath, "PLEASE don't, Danny! PLEASE DON'T!"

He kept driving.

I CANNOT go back to the hospital.

I turned my body towards the door, ready to open it. I saw that he was driving well above the speed limit, but what did I care? I wasn't about the go back there, I couldn't.

He reached over, and pushed the lock down, making it disappear in the door, needing a button on his side to unlock it.

I needed to change tactics.

So I reached for the steering wheel.

Now, I have never driven in my life, so I didn't really know how sensitive turning the steering wheel could be.

It's sensitive.

I reached over in a flash and grabbed hold of the wheel with two hands. I gripped it, and yanked it far to the right, my direction, in case we hit something. I didn't want him to take impact.

The car turned more than I expected it to. I saw Danny's eyes widen, his anger gone, fear and shock ran through him.

_I saw the crinkling in the corners of her eyes from her smile in the rear view mirror._

Abruptly, they turned into the size of my fists.

He fluttered his hands, trying to gain back control of the car. We spun around, drove into a ditch, and teetered.

_It felt as if our little car has been in the air forever. Turning, spinning, flipping, turning, spinning, flipping._

We stopped. Upside down. We stopped.

We stopped.

Danny was now gripping the wheel, his knuckles white, his face red and still.

My head had moved when we teetered, hitting my shoulder. I wanted to scream it hurt so bad, but I just let out a low groan, not wanting to give myself away. He had enough to be mad about, he didn't need to be mad about the fact that my neck brace had been neglected.

He looked at me, breathing heavily.

I couldn't look at him.

"ANNABELLE! Do you SEE what you're DOING ?" He yelled, his eyes bulging. He grabbed a hold of my arm. "You..."

"I know EXACTLY what I DID," I said, I a faux-calm voice, one I have perfected, "I swear to God, Danny, this was the LAST TIME. Please, just PLEASE, do NOT bring me back there!"

I pleaded with my eyes, and he gave me an empty stare back.

We were silent. After a long pause, he finally whispered,

"Why..." He looked back down at my arm.

He loosened his grip a bit, and I ripped my arm back, out of his sight, and pulled my sleeve back down.

I glared out the wind shield, "WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP ASKING ME THAT?!" I boomed, groaning.

He just looked at me, same sad expression.

"I just DO," I said, a lower voice now, "I just do. Why can't you people just accept that, and leave me the HELL alone?"

He blinked, and straightened himself up, composing himself.

"I've known you since you and my sister were in Kindergarten. You had just moved here, from California. I remember looking at you differently. I mean, you were so much lighter than everyone else around here. My parents found it funny that you were so white, coming from a hot state. They spoke about how jealous they were of your family. You guys were picture perfect.

"They always said how happy of a little girl you must be, and how happy they were that Marla befriended you."

He looked at me. I was still staring out into the now darkness.

"It was just 3 months after you moved here, when Marla came to me crying, 'she can't come over, she's playing with someone else,'. I remember because I thought I was too cool to play with a 5 year old. I was 10, I was too old for kiddie stuff,"

He smirked, but then frowned and continued, "Anyway, we got the news the next morning. You and your mom had been driving late, on the freeway. You two got into a horrible, tragic, and fatal accident. We didn't know who had died, whether it was both of you, it took nearly 4 hours to find someone who would answer our questions. When we found out it was your mother who died, we were devastated. But, in a sense, I remember feeling relieved, because I knew a young life was saved. You were spared, because you were meant to live a longer life."

_"Don't," he started, "Your mother is DEAD because of you. YOU. It should have been YOU that died. NOT ARIANNA,"  
_  
He took a breath, and he tried to catch my gaze.

"We weren't allowed to see you. My parents believed you were in good hands, because your father seemed like such a nice, caring, hard working family-man. But then you missed a week and a half of school. Marla was the same age as you, 5, and she didn't understand. Hell, I hardly understood what was happening. Marla kept asking for you, wanting you to come back to school. I knew you couldn't stay away from school for too long. My parents had told me when I tried to miss school, that if I missed too much, the state would take me away."

_He yelled. He had never, ever yelled at me._

Then, he brought his hand up, and brought it back down, with a sharp impact onto my face. I had never been hit before. Never even a spanking to my bottom for bad behaviour. The unexpected hit made me screech out crying, feeling my face burn from the slap.

I sobbed, and brought my hands up to childishly cover my ears. I couldn't listen anymore.

"When you came back, you weren't the same Annabelle I knew. You weren't happy. You seemed paler, I remember that. Your hair was messy. Marla always loved your hair, by the way,"

Danny started the car, and began to drive through the ditch, until it levelled out. He got back onto the road, doing a u-turn, towards my house. I relaxed a bit.

"And then you came to school with a bruise on your cheek,"

He said it so abrupt, I thought he was done.

"Your hair was cut a bit shorter, but not by too much. It was choppy. The teachers assumed you had tried to cut it yourself, like a lot of kids have done,"

"And then you came to school with no jacket, even though it was cold. You had more bruises on your face, your arms. I didn't understand. I really didn't."

"Please, stop"

"And then, one day, you came to school with a purple ring around your neck. I saw it. You were wearing a turtle neck, and you were scratching. I saw it, and I asked you about it. You didn't scratch anymore. No one else saw,"

"Please, Danny..." I whispered, hiccupping from my sobs. I wiped the stupid tears off my face with my bloody sleeve.

"How's your arm?" He started a new subject, still, not a preferred one.

"Fine," I stated, shortly.

"And your neck?"

Well, that was blown.

"Fine," I repeated.

After a moment, he spoke again, unexpectedly.

"Do you even sing anymore?" He asked, quietly.

No. No I haven't sung in a while. I used to use singing as a way to get the pain out. It was a release, and a considerably positive one. But, then I discovered cutting, and I haven't sung since.

Cutting is easier than singing while you're crying anyway.

Singing seemed so... Unnecessary, considering what I was facing. It seemed like a silly and useless way to let out pain. But, all the same, it worked for me when I was younger.

I clued in that Danny was still waiting for an answer.

"No," I decided to stop lying... For now, "I haven't sung in a while,"

He sighed, and slumped a bit, "you were really good," he smiled, "I'm sure you still are,"

I gave a short laugh, "I'm sure," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

* * *

More time had passed, and we finally arrived at my house, much to my relief. He pulled up the driveway, and looked at the clock on my phone.

7:55.

Impossible, how could it be THAT late?

"I'm sorry it's so late," Danny said, seemingly reading my mind, "I didn't mean to take that long,"

"Don't worry about it, I'm sorry to," I couldn't look at him, "For... Everything,"

He was silent, looking at my house. His expression became confused.

"Danny?" I followed his gaze, leading up to my front window in the living room. Someone was pacing.

"I..." I was speechless.

"Someone's in your house," he stated the obvious.

"Well, I'll go see who it is, thanks for dropping me off," I forced a smile at him, "I appreciate it. And hey, I'll wash the rag, and get it back to you ASAP, Kay?"

"No, no I'm not sending you in there yourself, he could be a murderer or something!" He sounded shocked, but ready. He shut off the car.

"In La Push?" I laughed, "the only 'dangerous' thing here is death by boredom,"

"Or the wolves I've been hearing all night,"

I haven't even noticed, "yeah, well, it sure as hell doesn't look like a wolf walking around in there, so I'll just go see who it is,"

"Is it your dad?" He squinted his eyes, trying hard to see through the descending darkness.

My heart raced at the possibility. I would be dead the moment I stepped in the door.

He would literally beat me to death, I had absolutely no doubt in my mind.

I started shaking, my breath suddenly leaving.

"No," I whispered, "He... His car isn't here,"

"Annabelle-"

"It can't be,"

"Annabelle, let's go see, okay?"

I shook my head, my hair falling in my face. If it were my father in there, he wouldn't beat me as long as Danny stays. But, when Danny leaves...

Maybe I should just not go in. Ever.

"Annabelle, please. It would make me feel a whole lot better," he paused.

I knew what was coming next.

"And you owe me," he finished, glaring at me.

I gave in, I had to. There was no arguing with him, he'd always win.

"Alright, alright. But let's hurry, I'm freezing," I caved, shivering.

He nodded gravely, and quietly opened his door. I did the same, and slid out of the car. I felt like forever until my feet hit the ground. I didn't slam the door like I would usually do, because it would cause too much noise. Of course, because the truck was so old, it didn't shut properly when I shut it lightly, but that wasn't the issue here.

I quietly walked to the bed of the truck, and lifted my backpack out. I slung it over one shoulder, and walked to the front of the truck, where a waiting Danny stood. He was staring at the window where the figure had once been pacing, but had now since disappeared. I looked at Danny, confused, and he shrugged his shoulders.

I began to walk up the driveway, when Danny put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I looked back, and he shook his head. He jerked his thumb behind him.

I rolled my eyes. I mean seriously, I'm old enough to take care of myself. I'm a big girl now.

We had a stare down for a full minute, until he stepped in front of me, and held me behind him.

Suddenly, I was afraid of what could be in there.

If it were my father, he would have seen Danny with me, and put on the "good father act". He would have come outside, turning on the porch light, and lightly scolding me for staying out so late.

_"You have homework to do missy! Chores to get done!"_

"What if you got hurt!"

"Do you know how late it is?"

"There you are, I was worried sick!"

I was worried sick.

THAT'S what a real father should say.

THAT'S what I want my father to say.  
THAT'S what my father would never say.

I was worried sick. Would he ever be worried sick? No. He would never be worried. My father doesn't have any emotions past anger and hate. None what so ever.

Before I knew it, I was crying.

"What's wrong?" Danny whispered, so quiet I almost didn't hear him.

"Nothing, keep moving" I nudged him forward.

I wish my father cared.

I wish my father worried.

We reached the front door, and Danny let me aside to unlock the door. I hung my head, and turned the door handle instead, pushing it open. Danny sent a disapproving look my way, almost saying, 'you don't lock your door? No wonder there's a potential murderer in your house!'

I shrugged, and motioned him forward. What's the point in locking the door in ?

I saw him shake his head in the corner of my eye, and I sighed. I just couldn't please this guy.

We walked into the door, with silence, holding our breath, and I was suddenly afraid of the possibility of being in a house with a potential murderer.

Or my father. That could be worse. He knows my weaknesses.

I grabbed Danny's arm, out of fear, for about 10 seconds.

And then I was snatched away, Danny's arm disappearing from my grasp.

I gasped, filling up my lungs for the following scream.

"Annabelle?!" Danny yelled, unable to see anything. It was too dark. Too closed in.

I screamed a short scream, because my air was cut off. My face was pressed against a very hard, very warm surface, making it impossible for me to scream. My lungs were being crushed by two rock hard arms, wrapped around me.

Was..was this guy hugging me?

And why did I feel so comfortable, so welcomed, so loved in this stranger's arms?

It was such a strange, foreign feeling. I couldn't be happy in it. I couldn't feel happy in such a strange embrace. I don't get embraced like this. I don't get loved, missed, welcomed.

"Annabelle! Don't touch her!" Danny yelled

_"Don't touch her, Paul," Marla warned._

Paul.

Suddenly it made sense. I could smell him. I know that sounds weird, but he smells like the woods and...happiness. And my heart felt...good. It felt light, not heavy like it usually does. I felt like smiling, not crying. I felt my scars disappear. I felt my dad, my mom, my everything bad disappear. My problems, insecurities, my everything. Gone. Replaced by happiness, love.

"WHO ARE YOU, LET GO OF HER"

I struggled, trying to get out of his grasp. I realised that Danny had most likely not seen Paul yet, because he was still in the doorway, while Paul had pulled into the living a bit.

Paul started stroking my hair, "I thought you were dead. I though you were missing,"

Well this was creepy.

"Paul," I whispered, trying to pull back.

"I thought you were gone forever. I thought I'd never see you again,"

"Paul!" I said a bit louder, but not by much. I was winded, still not able to breathe due to his crushing embrace.

He loosened up, and he brought me forward. He grabbed hold of my shoulders, his hands gripping and they felt huge. He realised how much he towered over me, so he knelt down, getting down to my height. I felt like a child.

"Annabelle, I though you were dead. Don't you EVER do that to me again! I was worried sick!" He starred deep into my eyes, his forming tears. He was shaking, but only a bit.

_'I was worried sick'_

'I thought you were dead'  
  
No one has ever said that to me before, in the same sentence. No one has ever shown such fear on my expense. No one has ever showed that they cared for my well being to this extent.

What I also didn't get, is why there were tears in his eyes. This is at least the second time I've seen him almost cry, both times because of me. Paul was supposed to be the toughest guy in school. Paul was part of the La Push gang, being a tough guy, beating people up. No one has ever seen him show weakness, let alone cry.

"Don't ever do WHAT again, Paul?" I was suddenly angry. Why was he in MY house? How and WHY did he even know where I live? WHY does he care?

"Not go home after school!" I raised his voice, "especially without telling me where you're going!"

Oh no he didn't.

"You don't OWN ME," I yelled, "I don't need to explain MY life to YOU! I hardly know you, and right now, I seriously don't want to!"

That part literally hurt my heart, and by the look of his face, I can see it hurt his too.

"As a matter of fact, I don't need to tell ANYONE where I'm going! I don't NEED to do ANYTHING, ANYONE says!" I was exploding, but I didn't care, "DON'T tell me what to do. DON'T pretend to care. DON'T follow me home. And most of all, DON'T TOUCH ME."

I yanked out of his grip, which was more difficult than one would think. I watched his face, and saw sheer pain. I saw regret. I saw the tears about to overflow.

"Annabelle, I didn't mean it like that," his voiced cracked, "I... I was just so..so worried,"

He hung his head, and he seriously did look ashamed. I watched as he ran a hand down his face. He looked exhausted. His eyes bloodshot and watering. He was shaking, a little less, but still shaking.

Suddenly, I remembered Danny. I remembered him, the moment he grabbed my shoulder -which felt like it was already bruising- and pulled me back, away from Paul.

"Danny let go," I whispered.

I heard myself whisper, but it felt like a dream. My head felt heavy, my neck felt like it was about to pop, and fall. I couldn't breathe, and I felt so light headed and dizzy, it was impossible to see. I felt myself fall, onto my knees. I didn't feel it, I felt like I was numb, the blackness starting to creep towards the centre, from the edges of my eyes.

"Annabelle, Annabelle," I heard voices, saw shapes.

"Annabelle,"

_Don't be scared hunny-bunches, we'll be home soon. Why don't you go to sleep, and before you know it, you'll be awake in the morning in your own bed, yeah?" She glanced up to the rear view mirror, smiling warmly._

BOOM!

I screamed, unable to hold it in.

BOOM! The thunder rang in my ears, the lightning suddenly filling my vision. Rain beat down onto the wind shield, the roof of the car, and the windows.

BOOM!

I screamed again.

"Annabelle! Sweetie! The thunder can't hurt you, it's just a noise!"

I whimpered.

"Smile, AnnaBallerina. Look at me, and smile,"

I couldn't help but smile at her.

I finally took a breath. I felt like I've been holding it for so long. My sight returned, and my neck and head went back to the dull thudding that it's being doing all day.

I blinked, and looked up from my kneeling position on the floor. I was greeted by two extremely worried-stricken faces.

"Annabelle, talk to me. Are you okay?" Danny questioned, hesitant to touch me.

"I.." My voice cracked, yet it was still stronger than I thought it would have been, "I'm fine,"

Paul looked so worried, but I knew he was afraid to speak up after my one-sided argument with him.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," I apologized quickly, "I'm not in the best mood, and I didn't tell you where I live, and you just show up, and..."

"Don't worry about it, Annabelle," he smiled softly, "I'm so, so extremely sorry. I was seriously just worried. And I found out where you lived from Matt,"

"Matt?" Danny interceded, looking between the two of us.

I ignored the Matt part, I'll take that up with him later.

"Don't be," I pleaded, looking down, "please, don't get... Attached or whatever. I mean, I'm not...good...company?"

I didn't know where I was going with this.

"Please don't ever be worried about me," I said, then whispered in my quietest voice, "I don't want you to be disappointed when I'm gone,"

And that's when Paul went pale.

In La Push, everyone and their mother is tanned. I am pretty much the only exception. My father is half Quileute, and that's the main reason why we moved from California to La Push when I turned 5. My mother is Californian, but was as pale as a vampire. That's the most distinguished feature I got from her.

Paul, Paul is NOT supposed to go pale.

And there's no way he heard me.

Right?

"Here, Annabelle, sit on the couch. I'm going to get you some water," Danny spoke up, after a long silence.

He helped me up, and guided me to the couch. Normally, I would have told him that I could do it, but truthfully, I knew I couldn't. I felt so weak, weaker than usual.

Paul remained in his kneeling position on the floor, frozen.

He couldn't have heard me.

I know Danny didn't.

Danny came back with a glass of water, and I took a small sip of it.

I didn't need water weight.

Danny gave me such a mean looking warning glare, that I had to do what he was implying. I took a big gulp of water, and he smirked.

"You don't scare me," I taunted, smiling.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm intimidating, and you know it," he joked, flexing his muscles.

I laughed, covering my mouth to keep from spitting my water everywhere.

His muscles were nothing compared to Paul's.

Or Matt's newly developed ones.

Why the hell am I comparing people to Paul and Matt?

"Hey, finish that glass," Danny warned, pointing his finger at me, "I'm using your washroom,"

"Don't smell it up, the air freshener's empty," I yelled, as he walked down the hallway. I saw him flip me off from a distance. I giggled, but stopped when I looked at Paul.

What the hell was his problem?

He couldn't have heard me.

But he must have.

"Paul?"

He stayed still.

"Please come sit beside me," what the hell was I saying?

He closed his eyes. He was still pale, seemingly holding his breath. He wasn't even shaking. He wasn't moving.

So, I did.

I put my glass on the coffee table beside the couch, and stood up. Everything hurt, but I put my acting skills to the test, and didn't show anything.

I couldn't mask my worry though, because even I didn't know why it was there.

But I did.

I reached him, and I put my hand on his shoulder. I used him to balance myself, and I knelt in front of him. I don't know why, but I felt a huge urge to comfort him and make him happy.

I scooted forward, and touched my knees to his. He slowly opened his eyes - down- but kept his body slumped. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he had an unexplainable look on his face.

I reached forward, and wrapped my arms around him, as best as I could. I hugged as tight as I could, and after a while, I felt his arms slowly come up, and he hugged me back, tightening his hold, gently.

And my heart soared. I felt elated, on top of the world. I made him happy. I comforted him. I helped him through something, even if that something was my fault. I helped him. I made someone happy. I made Paul Lahote happy.

And I felt loved. This wasn't the type of hug that friends shared. In another family, this isn't even something a parent could give their kid. This was unexplained amazing. So loving, happy, comfortable, and warm.

I felt as if we were made for each other, my body moulded perfectly with his. I rested my head on his shoulder, my face slightly touching his neck. He tightened his embrace.

I felt like I never wanted to move. I never, ever wanted to get up from the position. I never, ever wanted him to let go.

And then I heard my father's key's in the already unlocked dead bolt, and the door handle turn.


	6. Chapter 6- I Might Need You

** I'm back! Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews, fallows, and favorites! I am so stoked that you guys like it! God, I have SO many great ideas for this story, but it's taking so long to get out! I spent a LOT of time writing and re-writting this chapter, so I hope it's okay. Obviously, Paul is in this chapter, as he will be in most chapters, but not as much as I want him to be. Next chapter, it will be ALL Paul and Annabelle, featuring some others, of course. Please review, and enjoy chapter 6!**

**I just want to get one thing out before you start reading. Annabelle is clearly emotionally unstable. She's a little crazy, erratic, and she has a lot of problems to deal with. Obviously, this is in her point of view, so to a normal person her choices and actions may not make sense, or seem completely logical. She freaks out at random times, and they may not make sense. She's very unpredictable, even to herself. I'm sorry, I just wanted to clear that up to the few of you who are slightly confused. :)**

* * *

I gripped on to Paul, my fingers becoming claws.

He's here.

He's here. He's going to see me, and Paul, and eventually Danny.

I'm dead. I'm so dead. I'm already dead.

I heard the door slam open, the door handle hitting the adjacent wall.

"ANNABELLE WHO'S DAMN TRUCK IS THAT," he yelled out from around the corner.

"Is that your dad?" I heard Paul whisper, still near my ear, then added, "is he drunk?"

Most likely.

I sat up, breaking out of Paul's hold. I looked into his eyes as I stood up, forcing him up, too.

"Yes, and I don't know," I hurriedly answered, "you need to GO!" I stage whispered, still not loud enough for my father to hear. I pushed his shoulder towards the back of the house.

I heard him removing his work boots, throwing them to the ground. Deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Why? Let me meet him,"

Worst idea I've heard all day.

"Please Paul. Please, please leave,"

He yelled again, "ANNABELLE,"

"PAUL PLEASE," I whispered even louder, my pleading becoming too loud.

"Annabelle, what the hell?! Who's THIS?"

Four.

Five.

Six.

I whipped my body around, the action causing my neck to ache. I felt Paul's hand start to go up my back, wanting to support my neck.

I had no idea how my father would react to that, whether he would get angrier or not.

I decided I didn't want to find out. I stepped away from Paul, out of his reach.

"Dad," please, please don't yell at me for not saying 'Daddy', "This is my... friend, Paul,"

"Hello, Mr. Bryant," Paul walked the few steps towards my father, then extended his hand.

I stayed back, and watched in awe.

Paul was huge.

I bet he could take my father out any day.

"Paul Lahote? I've heard plenty about you," my father shook his hand, "nice to meet you,"

His fake niceness stung. Why. Why couldn't it be real? WHY couldn't he be a gentleman. WHY couldn't he be nice.

Why couldn't he care.

I heard a toilet flush, and footsteps come down the darkened hallway, eventually emerging into the lightened living room.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

My father peered around Paul, first to shoot deadly glares at me, and then to see who else I dared to bring into his home without his consent.

"Oh, uh, hey Mr. Bryant," Danny stuttered, shocked to see a new person in the living room.

"Hello, Danny, how are you? Long time no see," my father sloppily grinned, the alcohol kicking in. The foreign movement of his mouth, confusing on his face. It didn't seem to fit his naturally mean features.

"I'm fine, sir, how are you?" Danny forcefully grinned back.

"I'm great," he returned, "starving, though. Annabelle?"

He turned his gaze back to me, making sure to keep it blank, because people were watching.

"Annabelle, is dinner ready?" He spoke in a forceful voice, yet it was the calmest I've ever heard him use with me.

I opened my mouth to answer, but of course, Danny had to have his input.

"Sorry Sir, I just got Annabelle home about 10 minutes ago, we...had some stuff to do.."

Oh no.

I closed my eyes, bringing my hand to my face.

Danny could have just set my death sentence right there.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

He probably thought he was saving me from getting into trouble. Instead, he did the exact opposite.

See, I wasn't supposed to get rides from anyone in the first place. I was forced to walk. Everywhere. Everyday, I walk home from school. I get home at the exact same time everyday, and I follow his rules to the tiniest detail. I had a major list of rules to follow, and if they weren't done, properly, I would be beat. It's as simple as that, and it happens every single day of my life. Even if there was a piece of dust out of place, my father would beat me.

He really, really doesn't like it when I don't follow his rules.

I sighed, and opened my eyes. I ran my hand through my hair, and I refused to look at my father.

But I had to speak to him.

"I'm making it right now, Dad, I'm sorry," I kept my eyes down, and walked towards the kitchen.

I decided to make my father's favourite, so I threw some ground beef onto a skillet, and turned the stove on. It was apparent that Danny and Paul were going to stay for dinner, so I made sure to make extra. Sloppy Joes have been my father's favourite for as long as I could remember, and it's the one thing I could do close to right in his eyes.

That's really what I needed right now.

* * *

I heard my father, Paul, and Danny making small talk in the living room, while I listened to the sizzling of the ground beef, onions, and peppers. I smelled the aroma, and it was so amazing.

I can't eat. I can't. I can't eat.

My stomach sided with my nose, wanting the source of the sweet, sweet smells.

No. I can't.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

100. But the nurse said 75. 100. That 3 digit number didn't...couldn't... leave my mind. Maybe the nurse lied to me, made sure the scale was off, just to scare me.

It wouldn't have worked, because I'd love to be that weight.

Maybe there was something wrong with my scale? Maybe my father tampered with it. Or maybe that's just what I wished. I felt that heavy. I felt like a fat piece of lard, about to break the over-used scale.

That's exactly why I couldn't eat this food.

But I WANTED to eat this food. I really, really wanted to eat this food. But I physically can't. Images of my stomach protruding out, being fatter, they kept popping into my head. I can't get fat. I can't get fatter!

"Hey,"

I jumped, as Paul interrupted my internal war. The flipper I was using to push the meat around flung into the air.

"Jesus Paul, you scared me!" I muttered picking up the tool that had clattered onto the stove top.

"I'm sorry," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I sighed, shrugging out of his hold.

I felt Paul's eyes on me as I finished cooking.

"Could you call them in please?" I spoke quietly, not meeting his eyes.

"Uh, sure," he replied, sounding confused at my tone and unwillingness to have a conversation.

Truth was, I was scared. So completely scared, because I knew my father was going to have alcohol with his dinner. He was going get even more drunk, and he was -you guessed it- a mean.. very mean drunk. He WILL beat me as soon as we're alone.

There's no if. There's no maybe. There's no getting away from it. There's no hoping it'll all blow over without many, many bruises.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

My father and Danny walked in, talking, as I set the table and set down their plates.

"Wow, Annabelle, looks awesome," Danny smiled, as he sat down, rubbing his hands together.

My father said nothing as he sat down, but he glared at me, yelling at me with his mind.

I knew exactly what he was saying, he's so predictable.

Nineteen.

And twenty.

Paul had been staring at me the entire time, but he had eventually been pulled into the sweet aroma of the meal I had set for him in an empty spot at the table.

Danny had already dug into his food.

Sighing, I turned around. Apparently, I did so too quickly, and suddenly my vision blurred, and I felt as if I were falling. I went light headed, but I regained my balance by grabbing onto the refrigerator door handle. I stood there for a few seconds, drawing in deep breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

Slowly, I opened the fridge door, welcoming the cooling breeze it threw at me. I grabbed hold of a beer, and walked towards my father, hearing the click of the door closing behind me.

I set down the beer in front of my father, when I remembered I needed to get the opener. I sighed, seeing the angry look in his eyes. He wanted his beer, and he wanted it now.

"Paul, Danny, do you guys want anything to drink?" I asked, quietly.

I was so scared.

Danny mumbled a no.

"I'm fine, Annabelle, thank you," Paul spoke.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I could handle him being so nice, and gentle, and sweet. I was too scared to accept the fact that someone was nice.

Paul wasn't supposed to be nice. Paul was supposed to be the big idiot, who bullied everyone, beat everyone up who looked at him the wrong way.

This WASN'T the time for him to be nice. I couldn't accept it. Here he was, pretending to care, and be nice, and act like he gave a crap about how I feel.

I just couldn't let it slide anymore, and I don't know why.

'Don't,' my heart yelled at me, 'don't take out your anger at him! Not again! He's being nice! He's the one person who cares! Don't yell at him again! Don't!'

"STOP," I half yelled, half growled, "STOP being so NICE,"

'Calm down, stop being so rude!'

But then the voice changed to a whole new one.

'But you're a bitch either way, I'm not surprised you're being one now'

'You're turning into your father,'

'Stupid bitch'

'You wanna eat that food? Well you can't, you fat pig,'

"Just stop being nice. You can't. You just can't be nice" I mumbled. I was making absolutely no sense, but I kept going, "NOT to ME. You can't be nice TO ME,"

Paul didn't say anything, almost like he was expecting this.

I just didn't know what to feel. The father-like voice was over running my mind. My actions. My everything was being overrun by my father's voice in my head. I felt crazy. I'm sure I seemed crazy. I am crazy.

"Just stop, okay?" I calmed down.

Four.

Five.

Six.

"I'm..."

"DON'T APPOLIGIZE" I cut him off.

All was silent. I grabbed the bottle opener off the counter-which should have been in the drawer- and walked back to the table. I slammed it onto the table, and pushed it towards my father. He grabbed it, cracked open his bottle, and downed half of it.

Everyone was still silent.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

I sat down in the last empty seat, and put my head down on my folded arms. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down before I spoke.

I don't know why I kept getting angry. I kept snapping at people, and I know that. I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm confused, and I don't know what to do.

I'm just scared. I'm just...not used to someone being so...nice. Someone who...loves me.

How can I be so stupid? He DOESN'T love me. I don't know why, but I wished with all my heart that he did,and he just didn't. I'm falling for his game. His rouse to get me.

Or I'm just paranoid.

I brought my head up, looking across at Danny.

"You want more?"

"Nah, I'm stuffed. That was pretty good, Annabelle," he smiled, but his eyes looked confused.

I pretended not to notice.

"Paul? Would you like some more?"

"No, I'm good too," he smiled back at me.

I forced a smile in return.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

"Dad, would you like some more?"

"Yes" was his short reply.

Quickly, I got up, and put more food on his plate. At least now, there would be less temptation.

He wolfed it down, as I sat there watching him. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying the fact that he could eat as much as he wanted, and I wasn't allowed to eat a thing.

My phone beeped in my pocket. It was Marla.

'Hey, would happen to know where my idiot brother is?'

I smiled, looking up at Danny. "It's Marla, she's wondering where you are,"

Danny frowned, furrowing his eyebrows as he pulled his own phone out of his pocket.

"Crap, it's dead," he sighed, "could I borrow yours to call her?"

"Knock yourself out," I said, as I tossed it to him, "speed dial two"

"Thanks," he smiled. He pressed two, bringing the phone to his ear as he left the room.

I sighed, looking back at Paul. I guess I should apologize.

"Hey, I'm... I'm sorry for yelling at you,"

"S'okay" he smiled and shrugged it off. I guess he was afraid of being too nice to me now.

I internally laughed. Paul, being scared? No way in hell.

I heard Danny talking in the hallway. Paul got up to wash his plate.

It was just me and my father left at the table. He stared at me, yelling at me in his mind.

You know that look you get when a group of people are criticizing you? When you know they're all talking about you, because they keep turning around, looking you up and down. They laugh at you with their eyes. They smirk, and then turn back around to their friends, because they thought of a new insult. That feeling of loneliness, being disgusted with yourself.

That's how I felt right now. My father was that group of people. I felt as if he were imagining what he was going to do to me. He laughed. He laughed as if I had just told him the funniest joke.

And right in that moment, I knew I was going to get it bad this time.

There was a hard knock on the door, snapping me away from being lost in my father's glare. The knock was so hard, I envisioned it turning into a cartoon, where the fist knocked a hole right through the wood.

"I'll get it," I spoke, glad to be away from my father.

I scooted my chair backwards, causing a very loud scrapping noise against the floor boards. I shut my eyes, pausing for a minute. The sound echoed through my head, electric shocks and painful thuds wracked in and out of my skull.

I stood up, avoiding eye contact with anyone, my head bowed down.

I hurriedly walked down the short hallway towards the door, that was still receiving a beating. I opened it quickly, wanting nothing but for the loud knocking to stop.

There stood Seth Clearwater, beat red and out of breath.

Seth is in my grade, and happens to be in a few of my classes. He's also adorable, and has been my crush since grade five, up to, well... A couple days ago. I wasn't even aware he knew where I lived.

"Seth?" I questioned, and I heard a sigh come from the kitchen behind me, "what?..."

"Paul," he spoke, interrupting me, "sorry, I need Paul. Now,"

"Paul?" I turned, confused, "um, Seth... needs you?"

"Hey, how did you know where I lived?" I asked quickly, before Paul made his way towards us.

"Uh, Matt," Seth said, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

Of course.

Seth continued to look anxious, rapidly sweeping his eyes between the forest line and the house.

"What's going on?" I asked Seth, as I heard Paul jog down the hallway.

"Annabelle, don't worry about it," Paul spoke from behind me.

"Annabelle?" Seth said my name, as if confirming it, which also means he didn't know me.

Well, liking him for 5 years was a wasted effort.

He went on, "oh, you're Paul's im-"

"SETH." Paul glared, quickly cutting him off. This received a guilty look from Seth, his hands coming palm-forward in a surrendering gesture.

I'm Paul's what?

"Annabelle," Paul spoke up, "I need to speak to you,"

"No, Paul. Sam needs us. NOW," Seth seemed agitated, in a rush. Obviously he was leaving something pretty important out, and Paul could somehow make it all better.

Seth was part of Sam's and Paul's gang.

Maybe they were running out of Steroids. Maybe they found someone to beat up.  
Maybe...

Paul interrupted my somewhat amusing thoughts.

"Seth, I swear, if you don't leave NOW, your head will be on a damn STICK,"

Seth disappeared instantly.

Paul sighed, and pulled me into the living room, out of the view of the two people still in the kitchen, awaiting our return.

"Paul, what the HELL is going on," I whispered, looking up at him.

"Annabelle, please listen to me,"

I stayed quiet, waiting. He seemed surprised, as if he were expecting me to interrupt him.

"Annabelle," he started, I could see him putting what he wanted to say together in his head, "look, I need to take care of something really important right now, but remember, YOU are my first concern, okay?"

The way he said that made me feel so important. So special. So...loved.

It was so foreign. Since when did anyone care for ME? Since when did PAUL care for me? Since when did Paul care for ANYONE?

"I need your number,"

I groaned. I mean really? He seemed so serious. So extremely serious, and then he asks for my number? Really?

I huffed out a single, humourless laugh, rolling my eyes.

"Annabelle, I need to check up- I mean, I need to... I need to make sure you're alright. I heard what you said. I heard you say, "I don't want you to be disappointed when I'm gone,""

It was easy to see him try to pull himself together. He's trying so hard to be strong.

He went silent for a bit. Then I realized he was waiting for me to reply.

"Alright," I sighed, "I swear to God, if I end up regretting this..."

"Annabelle, I told you I've changed," he whispered loudly.

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes, sighing again. I held out my hand for his phone, and I entered in my number.

He looked... happy. At least, happier than he's been all night.

I heard loud howling. So loud, that I wouldn't be surprised if it were coming from right outside my house. I covered my ears for the duration of the howl, as Paul looked nervously down to me.

The howling stopped. "I'm sorry, Annabelle, I need to go,"

What? Where the wolves calling to him? 'Come to us, Paul. Come join our pack as we run into the darkness.'

I shrugged off my nonsense thoughts, as I noticed Paul leaving.

"Wait!" I called, and he stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs.

Why was I telling him to wait? Let him go!

"I..." I ran my hand through my hair. Think! Think of something! You look like an idiot! "um, be...be careful. The wolves are dangerous,"

Paul laughed, "don't worry, I can fight them off,"

I still felt worried. Why? Why did I care for Paul's well being?

To my surprise, Paul flew up the stairs, and wrapped me into a hug. A genuine, loving hug.

"I'll always be close. I'll always be near you,"

And then he let go, looked me in the eyes, and took off down the street.

'I'll always be close. I'll always be near you,'

Though I did feel strange comfort in that, it didn't take away the fact that it was so very, very weird.

I made my way back to the kitchen, and my father and Danny were just finishing up.

"Hey, is Paul gone?" Danny spoke up, searching my face.

"Yeah, he's gone," I felt hollow, my mood dropping as soon as the sentence left my mouth.

I hesitantly went over to my father's spot, intending to take away his now empty plate. Danny picked up his own plate, and started over towards the sink.

I made accidental eye contact with my father, as I stood up, his plate in hand. I diverted my eyes, and as I was standing behind him, he went to get up, roughly pushing his chair back in the process. The back of the chair hit my hip and rib cage, with such force, it felt as if I had been stabbed.

I hissed in a deep breath, closing my eyes for a brief moment. No way he would have done that with someone else in the room. He wouldn't risk his "perfect image".

I looked over at Danny, and sure enough, he wasn't paying attention. He had his head bent over the sink, focusing on washing his plate. I looked back at my father, an evil smirk filling his features.

Danny finished washing his plate, and he turned around facing me.

"Annabelle, I need to go home. It's eleven, and I have work tomorrow morning,"

God, I can't breathe. It was coming. I quickly put the plate down on the counter, rubbing my hands together.

"O-okay" I stuttered, not being able to hide my fear very well, "I'll walk you to your truck,"

He nodded, and I spared one glance at my father before I escaped down the hallway. He shot a scary look at me, as if to say 'you better come back'.

* * *

I followed Danny outside, and he hopped into his truck.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked for the third time since he stepped outside of my house.

"I'm...I'm fine," I forced a laugh, "just tired, why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Your father's not going to like... hurt you, right?"

I forced out a loud laugh, "no way, the guy couldn't hurt a fly!"

Oh God, how oblivious could he be? He spoke about the bruises I had come to school with when I was in kindergarten! Put two and two together! Please! Say something! Do something, Danny! Save me!

"Alright," he fake smiled, it seemed too forced, "but call me if ANYTHING happens, okay? I swear I'll answer, just call."

Sure. I'll make sure to get right on that after my father beats me. Please, Danny. Open your eyes. Take me with you. Do something. He's going to beat me. He could kill me. Just do something. Anything!

"Don't worry about it," I laughed, "go get some sleep, loser," I tried adding some humour. Why? Why wasn't I saying anything? I was so used to telling people that everything's okay! I couldn't say 'Help me, God damn it! Save me!'. I physically couldn't!

"Oh yeah, I'm the loser, pip squeak" he laughed, and started his car.

I laughed, but it sounded sad. To me, it literally sounded like a cry for help. He's leaving! Do something! Stop him!

He waved. I waved. And that was it.

I was frozen. This was it. I needed to go back into the house. Back into Hell. I could just run away. I could go to Marla's. I could just run. Run anywhere.

'Save yourself,' a voice deep inside of me spoke up, 'you're the only one who can, do it. Save yourself. Run. Run far away. Just run,'

I was going to die if I walked in there.

But I did.

* * *

I slowly walked into the house, and turned towards the door, shutting it quietly. Maybe I could outrun him. Maybe I could make it up to my room before he can get to me.

But I was out of luck, because as I turned around, he was there, waiting for me.

"Don't," I begged, "don't touch me,"

"Excuse ME?!" He yelled, stalking towards me, "You're my daughter, Annabelle. That means I can do anything I want to you, and you won't ever be able to stop me,"

I took a deep breath, trying to sound tough.

"You hurt me, and I'll call the cops,"

My voice cracked. So much for sounding macho.

"ARE YOU THREATENING ME?" He screamed, in my face now, "HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH,"

I pushed me hard, and I fell to the ground. I looked up at him, dry eyed. I'm so used to this, is just became a sort of chore. He towered over me, waiting for me to get up. Of course there was no remorse in his face. Just anger. Rage. He was growing impatient. I scrambled to stand up.

"You will NEVER bring a COP into this HOUSE. YOU UNDERSTAND?!" He screamed.

I nodded my head, and he slapped me across the face.

"SPEAK WHEN YOU ARE SPOKEN TO,"

"Yes Daddy," I spoke, my voice barely audible. My face stung, and I fought to keep the tears at bay.

And then, I made one of the stupidest mistakes of my life.

"I hope the neighbours hear your stupid yelling and call them,"

I had a burst of adrenaline, at the worst time. I don't know what happened. It was as if something, someone inside of me spoke up. I didn't even think about the sentence, I didn't dare to. But it came out without permission.

And I've ever hated myself more than this moment.

I saw his face go red with rage, and his fists tighten, knuckles going white.

Why. Why did I have to open my God damn mouth. WHY.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE ALL-KNOWING, HUH?!"

He punched me.

"YOU THINK YOU KNOW EVERYTHING,"

He pulled my hair up against the wall, forcing me up, too.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING. YOU KNOW NOTHING,"

He punched my stomach, my spine hitting the wall with a sharp crack.

"YOU'RE A LOW LIFE, YOU HAVE NO LIFE. YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE. NOT AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO YOUR MOTHER,"

He pulled my head forward by my hair, then slammed it back against the wall. He got close to my face, I could feel his hot breath, drenched in alcohol, puffing in my face.

"Nobody WANTS you," he whispered, in the scariest voice I've ever heard him use, "Nobody NEEDS you,"

He grabbed my neck. It fit in one hand. He squeezed.

This is it. My last moment.

At least, I hoped it was.

I heard a howl. For some reason, I knew it was the same howl that I heard before Paul left.

Oh Paul.

I stared into my father's eyes as he tightened his hold, but I only saw Paul. I saw Matt. I saw Marla.

I saw my mother.

I wanted my life to flash before my eyes.

No, I didn't. I wanted the first part of my life to flash before my eyes.

The beginning was a real life. The rest, well, I was just... Conscious. Going with the flow.

I didn't fight for my life.

I stopped breathing, I helped him.

For once, my father and I were on the same page. He wanted me to die, and I wanted to die. It's as simple as that.

Paul. Paul could save me right?

Did I want to be saved?

"You're worthless. You're a bitch. You're ugly, fat, and unwanted,"

No. I didn't want to be saved.

I felt the hot tears fall down my face. When I was younger, crying always seemed to be the answer. Now that I'm older, crying seems to be the only option. I wasn't sad at the thought of dying, per say. I was sad that I wouldn't get to see Paul again. I wouldn't get to see Marla. I wouldn't get to see Matt.

But maybe I would get to see my mom. I defiantly wouldn't have to see my dad.

I felt my lungs contract, exhausted from trying to receive oxygen.

When I, mentally, gave up on that a long time ago.

This is the last moment. I heard the howl again, still far away, but quickly coming closer.

My father stared into my eyes, and when as I felt as if I were about to lose consciousness, he threw me on the ground, releasing my neck, with a look of disgust and hatred.

Involuntarily, my body gasped, taking in as much oxygen as possible.

Stop it. Stop breathing.

I glared at my father's retreating back as he made his way to the kitchen.

The voice came back, breaking out of me.

"Why,"

He stopped abruptly, but didn't turn around.

Stop talking.

"Why don't you just KILL ME," the voice became menacing, but not yelling.

My father laughed loudly, and then turned around.

"Because, bitch. Believe me when I tell you, I want to. I WILL kill you. One day. It's all I dream about. It's all I want. But, for now, I have great plans for you. You're my toy. And besides," he paused, "You don't deserve to see your mother. You don't deserve to see her beautiful face, the face you murdered, the face you ripped APART,"

I turned back around, and walked into the kitchen. I stayed where I was on the floor, staring at the wall of where he was just standing. I listened to the fridge opening. The clatter of glass bottles. The fridge closing. The bottle being cracked open.

He came into my line of sight again, and I watched as he downed the entire bottle at once. He then staggered over to me, still laying, still sprawled out on the floor against the wall.

He got within a few feet of me, and then, with all of his drunken might, he threw the empty beer bottle at the wall above my head, grinning as the rain of brown glass chunks shattered around me. None causing any damage to me, though.

I sat up, and he kneeled down to my level.

"Oh," he laughed, "and because I love you oh so much, my darling, darling baby daughter,"

The sarcasm was thick, even through the slurred drunken speech the many beers have graciously given him.

He grabbed a chunk of my hair, pulling my head forward, and then threw it back, slamming my head against the wall.

The man laughed loudly, standing up, and staggering out through the door way, heading up the stairs. I heard him stumble a few times before he slammed his bedroom door shut.

That's when the doorbell rang. Followed by heavy, frantic pounding.

"ANNABELLE OPEN UP!" I heard Paul's voice from the other side.

Painfully, I picked my sorry ass up off the floor. My ribs ached, my stomach ached. I couldn't believe how much my neck and head hurt, it was probably the aftermath of little oxygen and my already injured neck. I think the back of my head was bleeding too.

Not to mention the many, many bruises that would surely blossom tomorrow.

Oh well.

I was more hurt emotionally and mentally than physically.

"ANNABELLE I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR!"

I couldn't move any faster, everything hurt like hell. But I had to.

I had to get to Paul.

I limped to the door, only stopping in the hallway to glance in the mirror. I smoothed down my hair as best I could, and I wiped some of the mascara tear streaks away. None of the bruises were visible yet. Only a few cuts.

It'll have to do.

I composed myself as I slowly opened the door, using the skills I have gained over the many years. I hid all of my pain, mentally and physically.

Paul stood there for about a second, taking me in. And then he grabbed me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

This. This is what I yearned for while my father was hurting me. This is all I wanted.

Despite the freezing weather, Paul was only wearing low cut shorts. Yet, he was so extremely warm. I never wanted to leave his embrace.

Even though he was putting pressure on everything that ached.

Eventually, Paul let go, and kneeled down to my height.

"What happened to you, Annabelle?"

"Nothing."

"You're wincing."

"I...fell,"

"I heard a smash"

How could he have heard that?

"I dropped a glass when I fell,"

Paul looked into my eyes, trying to see if I was telling the truth.

He put a hand on my ribs.

I winced.

"Annabelle please tell me,"

I sighed, and I pulled him into the house. Still out of the view of the living room, where broken glass and a -for some unknown reason- flipped coffee table still remained.

"Don't be mad," I pleaded, sitting on the floor. I was exhausted. This day dragged on for way too long. He followed suit, and sat down beside me, my left leg and his right leg touching.

"I could never be mad at you,"

"Not at me, in...in general,"

"I won't, Annabelle. Please just spit it out,"

I sighed, bring my hand up to my head, pushing my hair out of my face.

"My father got drunk, and..."

He sadly looked me in the eyes, waiting for me to go on.

"...I uh...he's a...mean drunk,"

Paul started shaking.

"He's... He's abusive?!" He fought to keep control of his voice and his shaking.

Yes.

"No."

"But you just said..."

"Paul, I said he's a mean drunk. It's rare that he gets this drunk, and he hardly did anything but yell... and he threw a bottle."

And almost killed me. But who cares. This was all pretty much a lie, because really, it happened almost every night.

"Annabelle, are you okay now though?" He was shaking, but for some reason, as long as his leg was up against mine, he kept his shaking to a minimum.

"Yeah Paul I'm okay now,"

And that was the truth. In all honesty, with Paul here beside me, I felt fine. I felt no physical pain. I felt little to no emotion pain.

And that's when he hugged me. He hugged me tight, but not tight enough to hurt me.

"You know, my father was a mean drunk too. My mother kicked him out when I was 10 though, she didn't want me to be involved with him at all,"

He paused, but then continued on.

"Your arm," he grabbed it, and pushed my sleeve up all the way. He wrapped a hand around my arm, hiding some of the cuts. He sighed, closing his eyes, and rested his head against the wall behind him.

The abnormal heat from his hand felt amazing. But, the sadness and pain in his features brought the feeling of guilt crashing down on me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, even though I wasn't. I was sorry that it hurt him for some reason. I wasn't sorry that I did it though. I wasn't sorry that I had intentionally carved up my arm. I needed it. If I didn't do it, I would have killed myself a long time ago.

"I'm going to help you," he whispered back, sounding so sincere, "you just can't...you can't do it anymore,"

"I don't need help, I've stopped now," I lied, and for once, someone didn't even try to believe me. Or at least, he didn't try to look like he believed me.

I looked into his eyes as he pulled his hand away. We sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each others company. Then, Paul spoke up.

"I want to hang out with you tomorrow, is that okay?"

Now that's something I never thought I'd hear.

I smiled, and I felt like jumping up and down in joy.

A month ago, I would have laughed. No actually, a month ago, he wouldn't have even given me the time of day.

"Yes," my smile grew, "I'd love to hang out with you tomorrow,"

It would take me a while to fully trust Paul, and I knew that. I think he knew that too. This would be a perfect opportunity to see if he could be good for me or..or if some people never change.

* * *

We spoke for a while, before Paul noticed I was practically falling asleep in the middle of sentences. He had told me to get some sleep, and he'd come to pick me up around noon tomorrow. He left, but not before reminding me that he's always just a phone call away. Yet, he seemed to have something more to add. As if he were more than just a phone call away.

'I'll always be close. I'll always be near you,'

I shrugged it off, and made my way to my bed.

I was so exhausted. I was excited for tomorrow. I had something to look forward to.

And, even considering the events that had taken place today, I didn't cut. I ran my fingers over the my most recent cuts, and I thought of Paul. Nothing else. I thought of Paul, and what tomorrow could bring.

Tomorrow would involve Paul. That thought alone was amazing in itself. For once, I wanted to wake up. I wanted there to be a tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7- Reality

_**My last update was March.**_

**I am **_**so**_** sorry. I had been completely caught up with school work, trying at the last minute to **_**not**_** fail. I had absolutely no time to write this, and when I could squeeze it in...**

_**Everything was deleted.**_

**I got so angry when it deleted for the third time, that I gave up and focused on my school work instead. BUT, now that school's over (except for summer school in a week because my efforts weren't enough), I can focus on writing this story, and nothing else! Yay!**

**Once again, I am super, super sorry I've left it so long. In hopes of making it up to you, I've made this a pretty lengthy chapter. I hope it's good enough to have been keeping you waiting for THREE months!**

_**Thank you so much for your reviews! If you have any questions, feel free to message me! Btw, I won't ever give up on this story...I just take a long time to update!**_

* * *

_"Mommy!" I yelled, my face drenched with sweat, tears, and rain water, "Mommy! Mommy! Don't touch my mommy!"_

_The man holding me back laughed. He bellowed a deep, throaty laugh in my ear, sending chills down my spine._

_"No one can hear you, little girl. No one will help you, or your mommy,"_

_He laughed, and he pulled me towards him. I could feel his body against my back. He was still, but slightly shaking with his laughter. _

_"Stop crying, little girl," he said, as he kneeled down, and turned me around to face him, "it's not going to do you any good!"_

_He licked his finger, and brought it up to my temple. I was too scared to move. He brought his finger down from my temple, dragging it down, tracing an imaginary line all the way down under my chin. He lifted his finger, pushing my face up to look at him._

_The face was one I had not been expecting._

_"Daddy?"_

_He laughed an evil laugh. He upturned his hand, and clasped the bottom of my face. _

_"Shut up Annabelle. LOOK!" he spun me around by my head, forcing my body to follow._

_I took in the sight of my mother, the man with no face kneeling over her, scratching at her face. _

_"MO-" my father slapped a hand over my mouth, cutting me off. My heart sped up as I felt him kneel down beside me, his face becoming level with mine._

_"You see?" he whispered in my ear. I felt his hot breath blow over my face, "you see what you did? You took away the only thing I cared about. All you left me with is something I despise. You. I hate you, Annabelle... LOOK,"_

_I had tried to force my face away, I couldn't look at the man mutilating my mother anymore. He gripped my face harder, not allowing me to look away. _

_"LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!" he screamed in my face., "LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!"_

_"I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry, Mommy," I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the cold wind and rain mix with the tears streaming down my face, "I'm so...," I shuttered in a deep, shaky breath, "I'm so sorry."_

_I heard my father's laugh behind me, filling my ears. _

_I saw my mother being ripped apart by the monsters in front of me._

_I was allowed to turn around, and I faced what I thought would be my father._

_The man standing there wasn't my father. He was replaced by the man from the beginning. The man I knew who was actually part of this. The faceless monster._

_His head was turned, so if he had eyes, he would be staring directly at me. _

_I suddenly heard quiet music playing behind me, but I didn't bother turning around to look. Despite his lack of a mouth, I heard his deep voice whispering to me._

_"I've seen the world, done it all, had my cake now,"_

_I stared, my distraught emotions suddenly becoming confused. I listened closer._

_"Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel-Air now,"_

_I leaned too far, trying to hear his quiet whisper._

_"Hot summer nights, mid July,"_

_I fell. I fell through him, and I kept falling. _

_"When you and I were forever wild,"_

_I heard one more bloodcurdling scream as I fell. I knew it came came from my mother, and I covered my ears._

_"The crazy days, city lights, the way you'd play with me like a child,"_

Suddenly, I jolted awake, my hands still tightly covering my ears.

_"Will you still love me, when I'm no longer young and beautiful?"_

I moaned.

_"Will you still love me, when I've got nothing but my aching soul?"_

I reached over to my night stand, and grabbed my phone quickly.

_"I know you will, I know you will, I know that you wi-"_

I cut off the song as I pressed answer.

"Hello?" I tiredly asked into the phone.

I paused, waiting for an answer. I waited.

"Hello?" I asked again, getting frustrated.

"Hello, Annabelle," a scruffy voice answered. My stomach tied in knots. I slowly sat up.

"Um...who is this?" I nervously asked, I felt as if I should know.

"That's nothing to bother yourself with, sweetie," he chuckled, "so, I hear your birthday's coming up,"

I was at a loss of words. This guy wouldn't tell me who he was, yet he was speaking as if he knew me all his life.

What was I supposed to say to that?

"Uh yeah...it's about-"

"A week away," I heard the smile in his voice.

"How did you-"

"I just do," was his short reply.

There was a slight pause before my phone beeped, alerting me that I had a call waiting.

Gee, wasn't I popular today?

"I have a call waiting...um..." I started, wondering if I should just hang up.

"Oh Annabelle...how I wish I could talk to you for longer," he sighed, and then started up again, "I can hardly wait until I get to see you again!"

This man's whole demeanor was all levels of creepy. He sounded as if he were family. But that couldn't be the case, because I didn't have any other family members besides my father. Not that I've been told about, at least. But then, how did he get my number? Why would he just call now, for the very first time?

I was about to hang up, when I heard him say one last, very creepy thing.

"I'll see you soon, Annabelle. I can't wait to see how beautiful you have become!" he spoke softly, and then sighed, "_Sixteen_! Oh, I cannot wait!"

Then the line went dead.

I sat there for a few moments.

What the hell just happened.

I had already been too late to answer whoever had been calling me before. I sighed, then my phone rang again.

I took a deep breath, and answered it again. I crossed my fingers, hoping that it wasn't anyone as creepy as the last guy.

I held my phone to my ear, not saying anything.

"Annabelle?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew that voice. Paul.

"Hi Paul," I sighed, closing my eyes in relief. I melted just hearing him say my name. It made no sense, but it just made everything bad subside, even if it were only for a second.

"Hey," I swear I heard a smile in his voice, "you okay?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, why wouldn't I be?

"Yeah...you?"

He laughed, "I'm great,"

Suddenly I realized the background noise on his side. He was driving. In a panic, I pulled my phone away from my face, and checked the time.

11:45.

"Oh my gosh!" I gasped, jumping out of bed. I felt woozy, and fell back down onto the bed.

"What?" Paul asked, "What, is it Annabelle? Are you alright?"

I pulled my arm over my face, focusing on his voice.

"Yeah I..'m fine," I struggled to keep my voice steady.

"I'll be there in about..." he paused, "two minutes or so,"

"Okay!" I replied, sitting up again, "uh...when you get here, you can let yourself in okay?"

"Sure," something told me he knew I wasn't ready.

"See you soon," I ended the call quickly, not waiting for a reply. I knew it was rude, but it would be even ruder to make him wait.

I slowly stood up, and picked clothes out to wear after my much needed shower. I grabbed a pair of shorts an oversized t-shirt, and made my way to the bathroom.

As I turned on the shower, I heard the front door open. I padded to the top of the stairs, and peered down. I looked like a mess, so I stayed out of view.

"Paul?" I whispered as quietly as I could, "is that you?"

"Yeah," I was relieved that he whispered back, instead of speaking. I couldn't afford to wake my father up. Especially after last night.

"I'll be ready really soon, okay?"

"I'll be here," he chuckled.

I smiled, and tip-toed back to the bathroom. As I was undressing, I thought about how weird it is that Paul Lahote was in my house. I had always been nervous for my well-being when he was even in the same school as me. But now I feel the total opposite. I feel..._safe_.

Last night was different. Having Paul there was a blessing. If there is a God out there, that was his one gift to me.

* * *

I was about ready to get out of the shower, when I saw a huge silhouette of a man through the shower curtain.

"What are you doing, Annabelle?" I heard a throaty laugh.

I didn't reply.

"He doesn't like you. He'll never like you," I heard a deep taunting smirk in his voice.

"Leave me alone," I opened the shower curtain, and wrapped myself in a towel.

"Do you honestly think he wants to get to know you?" his voice raised an octave as he laughed. He paused, "you do! You really think that!"

He laughed at me as a walked over to the mirror, drying myself off.

"Annabelle, take my advice,"

He paused, waiting for me to object. When I didn't say anything, he continued.

"Go with him. He's just going to take you to his gang. His friends. They're going to call you a freak. They're going to laugh at you. They're going to do the same thing to you that Paul's been doing for the last 10 years!"

I casted my eyes down in a feeble attempt to not see his smirking face. I knew he was my imagination, but I couldn't make eye contact with him. I clasped onto the sides of the cold sink, my knuckles turning white. I focused on the coldness of the tiles under my feet. The cold dampness under my palms.

_Don't listen to him. It's not even him. Forget that he's there. Don't. Listen. To. Him._

Suddenly, his voice turned even more sinister, even more evil.

"I hope they all hurt you. I hope they beat you. I hope they beat you even more than what I've ever done to you,"

"GOD DAMN IT DAD, just let me be happy!" I yelled, and instantly regretted it. I furiously wiped away the tears that I hadn't been aware that were falling, and waited for any reaction from someone in the house.

I spun around quickly, ready to say a few choice words to him while I was letting my anger out, but stopped.

He had disappeared.

Vanished.

Maybe I shouldn't do this, maybe I should make up an illness, some kind of excuse. I just simply cannot hang out with him today.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Annabelle... you okay?"

"I'm fine, Paul," I breathed, "I'm sorry...I..."

Should I make up an excuse? Should I bail on him...even after what he did last night?

There was a brief pause.

"I...I'll be ready soon. Sorry I'm keeping you waiting,"

I heard a barely inaudible breath of...relief? "Don't worry about it, Annabelle. Take your time,"

I listened to him walk back down the stairs, and waited until he reached the bottom to look back at myself in the mirror.

I groaned, and hung my head.

I took a few deep breaths, and lifted my head up again.

The bruises were almost too much. There were new and old bruises on my face, but that wasn't the worst of it.

I brought a hand up to my neck, poking the almost black bruises. They were almost in the shape of my father's hands, and they fit together so well that they basically could be considered all one bruise.

It was going to be near impossible to cover up.

In a panic, I realized it was already 12:10, 10 minutes after Paul intended on leaving. I threw on some full-coverage foundation and concealer, not stopping until the bruises were almost invisible. I put on some mascara, in a vain attempt to bring the attention away from any still-visible bruises on my face and -now- my neck.

Already dressed in the clothes I brought into the bathroom, I towel-dried my hair so it was only a bit damp, and draped the towel over my shoulders, hiding a good part of my neck. I positioned my hair to cover almost all of the rest, only a bit of the bruising showing.

I slowly opened the bathroom door, and quietly walked straight to my bedroom. I faced my closet, and suddenly had a new dilemma on my hands.

I had no idea what to wear.

I didn't have a job, and obviously my father didn't pay for anything that he wasn't forced by law to. I basically lived off of birthday and Christmas gifts from Marla, Danny, and Matt, who were all pretty wealthy in my mind.

I stood there for a few minutes, contemplating my small variety of choices, when I heard someone's footsteps creek outside my bedroom door.

I spun around quickly, only to be greeted by Paul looking sheepishly back at me.

"Uh, hey," he rubbed the back of his neck, "You need any help?"

I quietly giggled, "no Paul, I can get dressed by myself. I'm a big girl now,"

He laughed, raising his hands in surrender, "alright, alright," he backed away. I started to turn back towards my closet, when in the corner of my eye, I saw him change his mind and walk back in. Before I knew it, he was beside me, and we both stared into my quarter-full closet.

"Wow. Lots to choose from, eh?" he grinned at me.

I laughed in response.

"Well..." He paused, reaching into the closet. He sifted through a few sweaters, "do you mind if I give a suggestion?"

I shrugged, and motioned for him to go ahead. This all seemed so surreal, yet so natural. I felt like my life was supposed to be like this. Paul was supposed to be here. I forgot about the monster in the next room. I forgot about the monster that was in the bathroom with me. I forgot who I was...I forgot about the monster inside me.

Paul had been deep in thought, but settled on a hoodie and a pair of black leggings.

"It's getting pretty cold out...actually..." he made a move to put the leggings back.

"Nu-uh, that's cute," I reached out and stopped him. I grabbed the two pieces of clothing out of his hand.

"But you should wear more. It's cold out, and you're going to be even colder,"

I felt a little sick at that. He didn't know...

"What...why would I be even colder?" I kept my voice even. Years of practice.

He paused.

"Annabelle you're tiny," he smirked, turning back towards the closet, "smaller people get colder, right? I mean, I'm big, I stay warm,"

I sighed in relief. He was saying it as a joke, he didn't know.

"I'm not tiny, believe me," I shrugged, playing it off as if he _wasn't_ talking about my biggest insecurity.

He held out his arm, and waited for me to compare mine.

But I couldn't.

"I..." I held clasped my hands behind my back, looking at the floor.

"Why..." and then he paused, remembering, "but Annabelle I already know...I've seen them,"

Internally, I jumped for joy.

He thinks that he's seen them all. That the few that I've cut on my wrists are the only ones I've ever done. He doesn't know about my stomach. He doesn't know about my thighs, my upper arms...none of it. I felt proud of myself, when I hardly ever do. Even in my worst moments, I cut in the spots that no one would ever see, for times like this.

I held up my arm against his, and -it sounds silly- but I felt a spark. He was so warm, so muscular, so...perfect.

I laughed, "oh my God,"

The difference in our sizes were pretty amusing. He was massive, and I had to admit that my arm was pretty small.

Not to mention how extremely white I was compared to his russet skin.

"See?" he said with an 'I-told-you-so' tone, "you...you're all skin and bone," He narrowed his eyes, and then tried to look at me.

I quickly brought my arm back to my side. I didn't need him finding out anything else about me.

"Okay shoo," I motioned for him to get out.

"What?"

"We need to leave, and I'm not going to get dressed with you standing here!" I smiled, cocking an eyebrow.

"Right," he nodded, smiling back, "but hurry, we have plans," and with that, he left.

Great.

_"He's just going to take you to his gang. His friends. They're going to call you a freak. They're going to laugh at you. They're going to do the same thing to you that Paul's been doing for the last 10 years!"_

I shook my head, attempting to get rid of my father's voice.

Quickly, I dressed in the pink Victoria Secret's Pink hoodie, and black leggings. They had both been a birthday gift from Marla last year, and though the leggings still somewhat clung to me, the sweater had become baggier.

I smiled, reveling in the thought of being smaller than I had been a year ago.

I looked at myself in my dresser mirror and pulled my collar up a bit. My neck was in the worst possible pain, being abused by both Ricky and my father. The bruises were mostly hidden, I just had to make sure my hair was positioned properly for the rest of the day.

I sighed, brushed my hair, and walked downstairs.

"You ready?" Paul asked, scaring me. He had been sitting at the kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms.

"Yeah, just two more seconds, okay?" I walked past him, opened the cupboard, and pulled out a large bottle of Advil. I set it on the counter, and stared at it.

_"Marla, I gotta go," I breathed. I was losing control of my voice quickly. _

_"You okay?" she sounded worried, hearing more in my voice than I had intended her to._

_"I'm fine! I'm just tired, okay?" I said louder than I meant to. I sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly._

_"Annabelle, I'm coming over," she said, and I heard movement in the background. I faintly heard her covering the mouthpiece of her phone, and she was speaking to someone else._

_"Mar, I'm fine, seriously," I tried desperately to reassure her, "I just had a bad day, and I want to sleep,"_

_And hopefully not wake up._

_"Annabelle I don't care!" she said loudly. I flinched._

_I heard murmuring in the background, and suddenly I recognized Danny's voice. _

_I started to panic. She couldn't come over. I didn't want her to find me. I didn't want to have to face her brother if my plan didn't follow through. They couldn't be the ones to find me. They didn't deserve that. _

_They didn't deserve to see me dead._

_"Please, Mar, please let me sleep," the words had a double meaning to it. _

_I couldn't wait anymore. I had to do it. I had to do it now. _

_"Annabelle stop it. You're seriously scaring the hell out of me," I could hear her beginning to cry, her voice wavering._

_I faintly heard Danny say something in the background, but his words were lost in the sound of an engine starting and tires squealing._

_"Marla seriously! Stay home!" I panicked. They can't stop me! I had written my note over and over again until I got it almost right! I had planned this out! I was completely ready for this! They can't ruin it! They can't stop this!_

_If they loved me, they'd let me go!_

_I grabbed the largest bottle of Advil that I owned, and sat on my bed. I opened the bottle, and spilled over half of it out. I opened a bottle of water, grabbed a handful of pills, and shoved them all into my mouth._

_With a large gulp of water, I swallowed it all. I grabbed another handful, set to swallow that too._

_"ANNABELLE, ANSWER ME," I heard Marla scream into the phone, panicking more than I had been, "ANSWER ME, GOD DAMN IT!"_

_I hadn't been aware that she was talking before. I heard the car come to a screeching halt._

_They were in my driveway. _

_I couldn't let them find me. She didn't deserve that. She had been my best friend for as long as I could remember, and she sure as hell did not deserve to find me dead. I know she was one of the very, very few people who didn't want me dead._

_She just didn't deserve it. I simply could not do that to her._

_Making my decision, I tightly closed the Advil bottle, and threw it under my bed. I swiped the few remaining pills onto my floor, and ran to the bathroom. _

_I heard my always unlocked front door open, banging against the adjacent wall._

_Focusing on the task at hand, I opened the lid of the toilet and spit out the pills I had in my mouth. Then -with years of practice- I shoved two fingers down my throat, throwing up what I had swallowed before._

_It's done. They stopped me. I wasn't going to die tonight. I would have to wake up tomorrow, go to school, and face my father. I would have to do it all over again. _

_And again,_

_And again._

_The tears that were already spilling down my face got thicker and faster. It got hard to breathe as I sunk to the floor, laying in the fetal position. I felt the cold tile against my cheek, my tears pooling around my face._

_I heard the pounding of the footsteps on the stairs. The bathroom door flew open._

_I couldn't bring myself to look up. I couldn't look at their faces. I was out of energy. My adrenaline was completely gone._

_"ANNABELLE?" Marla yelled, making my head hurt._

_"Mar, shut up," I heard Danny say to her, and suddenly saw his feet in front of my face. He bent down, and stroked my head, "look in the toilet, she stopped herself,"_

_Marla's crying deepened, and she fell to the floor. I shut my eyes tight as she crawled over, and hugged me tight._

"Annabelle?" Paul shook my shoulder, a look of concern in his eyes as he bent down to my height, "Annabelle, you okay?"

"I..." I cleared my throat, "I'm fine I...just have to bring this to my dad, he must have a hangover," I brought my eyes up from the bottle, and looked at his face. He nodded, suddenly looking angry.

"Annabelle is that really all he did to you last night?" I noticed him starting to shake a bit, "he threw a bottle and yelled?"

"Yeah Paul, that's what I said right?"

I opened the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. With the Advil bottle in my hand, I walked past Paul, and lightly jogged up the stairs.

Standing in front of my father's room, I took three deep breaths, and readied myself.

_Please don't be awake. Please don't be awake._

I slowly, and very quietly opened the door, and peeked in.

The room was a disaster. He had clothes spewed everywhere, and enough beer bottles to open a beer store. This is the one room he allowed to be dirty. He had told me to never enter his room, unless he needed something. This was a situation in which he needed something, and I dreaded having to come in here.

When my mother was alive, she had shared this room with him. It had been so beautifully decorated, and always clean. I felt the memories start to flood in, but I did my best to push them away. I couldn't cry. Not right now.

I set the Advil and water bottle on an empty spot on his night table, and attempted to quietly sneak out of his room. On the way, I saw something I wished I hadn't.

On my father's dresser, there were five framed photographs. Three of them had been of just him and my mother, and the other two were family photos.

The family photos had the glass shattered so badly that it was almost impossible to make out the picture.

I didn't stay to look at the photographs. I tried so hard not to cry. I quickly ran out of the room, shutting the door behind me, and breathed in and out quickly.

I had seen the photos enough that it was impossible not to cry. We were so happy. A picture perfect family.

She was so beautiful. So pure. So amazing.

But now she's dead. I killed her. She's dead.

A few tears escaped as I quickly walked down the stairs. I wiped them away, and I used putting on my shoes as an excuse to stop crying.

"I'm ready Paul, I'm so sorry I kept you waiting," I apologized, and looked up. I hoped with everything I had that I didn't look like I had cried.

Paul studied my face, but smiled warmly at me. It seemed more as an act of comfort, rather than just a smile.

"Don't worry about it, Annabelle," he opened the door, motioning for me to walk out, "are you gonna lock up?"

"Uh..." I looked down, "I don't have key..."

"It's just you and your dad, and you don't have a key to your own house?" he asked sceptically, "what if someone goes in?"

"Paul seriously, we live in like, the safest town in America. No one's going to walk into my house," I laughed almost humourlessly, "besides, there's nothing worth any value in there,"

"Alright, alright," he shut the door, and led me to his truck, "I'm just saying, there could be that one person who holds a grudge and decides to ransack your house,"

I laughed, because the irony was pretty funny.

"What?" he asked as he opened his truck's passenger door for me.

"The only people in La Push who would do that are you, Ricky, and Sam's gang," I replied, smirking.

The orange truck looked super old, and unreliable. I was scared to touch it, in case it fell apart under my grip. The worst part was how high it was, and it took me a while to pull myself up. Paul held out his hand to help, but I ignored it, eventually gathering all the strength I had to get up.

"We're not a gang!" he sighed, but smiled at me. He shut the door, and walked around the front of the truck. He popped open the driver's door, and effortlessly sat in his own seat. Slamming the door behind him, he turned to me, "and we don't break into people's houses. We're not as bad as the rumours say we are," he rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright," I bit my lip, holding back some other rumours I could blurt out.

I saw him look at me through the corners of his eyes as he pulled out of the driveway and down the street.

"...and we're not on steroids," he sighed. How did he know I was thinking that?

"Oh come on Paul!" I laughed, "how am I supposed to believe that? You guys are unbelievably huge and muscular, and that only happens _after_ you start hanging out with Sam,"

"I..." he seemed unprepared to answer.

"So ha," I smirked, "there's no other possible reason,"

He didn't say anything, but I thought I saw him smile, and look away. I definitely heard him laugh.

My phone beeped, and I pulled it out of my pocket.

It was Marla, asking if I had anything planned today. I was about to reply, when I scrolled down and saw Matt's name, and the text that I had sent him almost a week ago, that had never gotten a reply.

Suddenly, I felt sick.

"Paul..."

"Yeah?" he looked at me, alerted by my change of tone.

"Is...um..." I paused, "is Matt one of you now?"

Paul didn't reply, and my stomach tied in knots. I felt like crying. Matt wouldn't join Sam's gang. We used to smack talk them all the time. Matt definitely wouldn't turn to drugs either. He couldn't have.

He wouldn't.

"Paul he hasn't been in school for the past week," I tried to make eye contact with him, "he's my best friend. Tell me what happened to him,"

I kept my voice forceful, but my emotions where going everywhere. I hadn't really thought about it until now, I've been so caught up with my new "friendship" with Paul. I've noticed Matt's absents of course, I just hadn't thought about where he is.

Or what he's doing.

"Annabelle.." he started, but I interrupted him with a thought that made the tears fall immediately.

"He's not...dead, right?" I stuttered.

"No!" Paul finally turned his head, making complete eye contact with me, "I promise you Annabelle, I promise that he's fine,"

"I can't..." I sucked in a deep breath, "I can't believe that he'd just join you guys,"

Paul pulled over to the side of the road, and abruptly stopped the truck. I leaned forward involuntarily, and Paul put his arm out to stop me.

He turned in his seat, and stared dead into my eyes.

"Annabelle," He started, and I looked away, "Annabelle look at me,"

I felt the tears fall, but I forced myself to look at him. He saw me crying, and he seemed to crumble under his strong facade. I suddenly got mad at myself. My uncontrollable emotions shouldn't have to affect anyone but myself. I hated how everything about me seemed to affect him.

"I'm sorry," I furiously wiped away the betraying tears, "It's just that..that he's always been there for me. I just want to be there for him, you know?"

"I get it. But I swear to you, he's fine," he stared straight into my eyes, "and he'll be back in school in no time," he smiled. His smile was infectious, and I couldn't help but smile back.

He put the truck in drive again, and turned it back onto the road. The sound of rocks and gravel under the tires turned into smooth pavement.

"Paul, you mentioned we had plans?" I stayed staring out the windshield, my blurry eyes becoming a bit clearer.

"Yeah, I figured we could go down to the beach,"

"Oh," I looked up at the sky, the clouds only slightly dark, "okay,"

I smiled, but it faded almost immediately when he said, "some of my friends wanna meet you,"

I didn't reply, instead I grabbed onto the sides of the seat, gripping them tightly.

I was right, he was bringing me to his gang.

I should have stayed home. I should have made some excuse.

Paul pulled up to the beach, and I could already see about 5 or 6 people. Some sitting, some playing football.

They were _huge_.

"What, do you not like meeting new people?" he asked, "why are you so nervous?"

"Paul!" I said, astonished, " you would be too, these people are literally twice my size!"

He laughed, "probably. But they're nice people, they won't hurt you,"

I sighed, releasing my grip a bit.

"Then answer one question," I diverted my gaze to floor, and I kicked my foot lightly.

He hesitated, "what is it?"

Now it was my turn to hesitate. This question could result in me running away, or I could just be making a fool out of myself.

Only one way to find out.

"There's a rumour going around...and I want to know if it's true,"

Suddenly, Paul looked nervous. He didn't reply.

I sighed, continuing on, "there's a rumour going around...people are saying that you and your gang have...have killed people,"

Paul boomed a laugh, and took the keys out of the ignition.

"We don't kill people. Never have, never will," and with that, hoped out of the truck. I opened my door and -literally- jumped out. I slammed the door shut, and met him at the front of the vehicle.

"But Paul I've seen it," I whispered as we started walking towards the group of people.

"Annabelle you couldn't have. We've never killed a person!" he sounded exasperated.

We were nearing the group, and I muttered under my breath, "but I know you've come pretty close. If it weren't for your gang, people would have died,"

He had opened his mouth to argue with me, when he was interrupted.

"Oh my gosh, hi Annabelle!" the girl from my gym class exclaimed.

What was her name..._Kim_.

"Hi, Kim," I smiled, stepping closer to Paul. Everyone had turned around, and started their way towards Paul and I.

Kim saw my nervousness, and stepped forward. She wrapped me in a hug, and I bit my lip. She was putting pressure on my ribs and neck, and they were aching more than ever.

"Kim," Paul coughed, "you're crushing her,"

"Sorry, sorry," she pulled away, smiling. I smiled back, and stepped back even farther. When Kim moved, I saw that I was suddenly surrounded by four huge guys.

I hid half way behind Paul. They swarmed in.

"Hey guys back off," Paul said aggressively, "you're intimidating,"

I'd say.

I took a deep breath, "no it's fine, Paul," and I stepped beside him, exposing myself.

Paul chuckled, relaxing. "Alright. So you probably know everyone, mostly from the rumours everyone's been telling you," he paused, and I saw him roll his eyes, "but I'll introduce you anyway,"

I nodded, watching where he pointed. He pointed to the smallest of the 5 men around me, "Seth, you know him. He was at your door yesterday,"

I nodded, "yeah, I've known him from before,"

Seth smiled warmly, "yeah, she's in my grade. Been in all her classes in elementary except grade five,"

I blushed. I honestly thought he didn't know me.

"But yesterday you acted like you didn't know who I was?"

"Nah, I was just in too much of a hurry to recognize you, sorry" he seemed sincerely apologetic.

"It's fine!" I smiled.

"...and I faintly remember you having a crush on-"

"Anyway!" I cut him off, but not in time. Everyone laughed, and I felt my cheeks flame up.

Paul pulled me closer to him, and gave Seth a warning glare. Seth laughed, but backed up.

"This is Embry and Quil, you know them from school, right?"

"Kinda," I admitted, and forced a smile at them. I had always envisioned how they could beat the life out of someone.

"...and that's Sam," Paul pointed at the biggest man. I took one look at him, and I took two steps back, almost crumbling to my knees.

The tattoo on his arm was painfully familiar.

_"What's the matter, little girl? The man holding me said, "Not having fun?"_

_"Smile AnnaBallerina. Look at me and smile,"_

_This little light of mine._

_I'm gonna let it shine._

I was pulled into a frenzy of flashbacks. But like never before, it went farther.

_The man carrying me was muscular._

_He had a funny drawing on his arm._

_I can't see, it's blurry. My head hurts, I can't see._

"I..."

I pushed my fist against the side of my head, and squeezed my eyes shut.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the guys giving me confused looks, flashing their eyes between me, Paul, and Sam,

_Stop._

_Don't make a fool of yourself. Not in front of all these people._

"Hi, S-Sam," I stuttered, forcing my eyes open again. I ran my hand through my hair, and smiled at him. It probably looked extremely forced.

I felt Paul bend down beside me, and whisper, "are you okay?"

I cleared my throat, pushing back every memory that was trying to surface.

"I'm fine," I whispered back. To prove it to him, I braved a step forward and stuck my hand out.

"I'm obviously Annabelle, nice to meet you," I smiled.

He smiled, and shook my hand. His grip was amazingly strong, yet gentle enough to not break my hand. Not to mention that his hand pretty much engulfed mine.

He let go, but I could see him silently studying me. I realized that I was staring right back at him.

"Oh yeah," Paul said, making me jump out of my trance, "and that's Leah,"

He pointed around the group to a girl sitting on a fallen tree trunk. She looked like the rest of them, except she didn't look inviting like they had. She looked...permanently angry. She looked like she had pure hatred for everything.

She had been texting on a little cell phone while I was being introduced to everyone, until she heard Paul say her name. That's when she looked up.

I felt sick under her glare.

She seemed to take a second to take me in before her face twisted into a deep scowl. A look of pure hatred seemed fixated on her face.

Paul pulled me back a bit, and said something to Kim. Then he walked over towards Leah, and pulled her down the beach.

"Alrighty!" Kim clapped her hands, making me jump and tear my gaze away from Paul and Leah, "The guys were just playing football, you can either join them, or come sit with me and gossip," she winked.

I smiled, "I'm not too awesome at football, so I'll just watch,"

"Great!" she laughed, and pulled me over to the stump where Leah had just been sitting. We sat down, and watched as the four guys started their game.

"Hey, I totally love your hair..." Kim started.

I now understood the meaning of the saying _talking your ear off_. Kim is the kind of person who could talk, and talk, and talk. We had to have been sitting here for about 10 minutes, and she hadn't stopped talking.

"...and I mean, he totally isn't even right for her. She's tried so hard to help him out of his rut, and he just dumps her like that? What a jerk! Who even needs someone like th-"

To be honest, I wasn't exactly listening to everything she was saying. I was trying hard, but I had so much on my mind.

One, Paul and Leah looked like they were about to start hitting each other. They had been arguing for almost 10 minutes, and I've caught Sam glancing over with concern every now and then.

Two, Sam in general. Why did he have so much of an impact on me? Seeing his weird tattoo made me immediately feel sick. I've seen him before, and not just around town.

He couldn't have been there that night. There's no way. My mind is playing some sick joke on me.

Was he one of them?

I shook the thought away. He was too nice. Sam's not a murderer.

But then again, his gang _does_ have a killing rumour going around...that may not be just a rumour.

"Oh welcome back, Leah. It looked like Paul was going to kill you over there,"

I tensed up. Leah was completely creeping me out, and having her sit anywhere near me was unnerving.

"Yeah right," she scoffed. She caught my eye and glared. I felt like she was imagining killing me, her stare was so evil.

It almost replicated my father's.

"Hey,"

I jumped, gasping.

"Sorry," Paul chuckled, "we're gonna go, just you and I, okay?"

"Alright," I smiled, relieved. I seriously did not have the courage to strike up a conversation with Leah. There was absolutely no way.

"Aww," Kim pouted, then jumped up, "can I have your number before you go? We could hang out sometime!"

"Yeah, sure," I smiled, and gave her my number as Paul went over to tell the guys that we were leaving.

After saying goodbye to Kim, I walked over the Paul.

"Bye, Annabelle, it was nice meeting you!" Embry yelled from across the beach as he threw the football to Quil.

"Bye!" Quil smiled at me.

Seth waved at me with a full-blown grin, "bye! It was nice finally speaking to you!" he laughed.

I smiled, and waved back to them.

I reached Paul, who seemed to be in deep conversation with Sam, so I strayed back a bit. Sam caught my eye and said something to Paul.

Paul turned around and met me halfway, "ready to go?"

"Yeah," I breathed, and waved to Sam. He waved back, slightly grinning.

Together, Paul and I walked farther down the beach. I felt proud of myself for the second time today. I met Paul's gang, and only one of them visibly wants to kill me. I smiled at Paul.

"Your gan- friends seem way nicer than the rumours," I giggled.

He laughed, "I knew you'd like them, they really like you,"

"Well, not all of them..." I muttered.

"Okay Leah doesn't count," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "she's a bitch to everyone,"

"Paul she looked like she would kill me if we were alone,"

"She wouldn't. She wouldn't dare. Not if _she_ wants to continue living," he growled, looking completely serious.

"Hey now, don't make those rumours true..." I shoved his arm lightly.

He laughed, "you know, you really shouldn't believe all these rumours that go around,"

I sighed, "oh I know, I've had my fair share of rumours, I know how crazy they could get,"

"You've had rumors spread about you?"

I laughed, "uh, yeah. Most of them by you,"

He looked at me sadly, "I'm sorry, I-I was an asshole,"

I nodded, "you were,"

He looked at me with a fake hurt expression on his face. I laughed.

"What happened to your mom, Annabelle?" he asked seriously, "I'm sorry I...I've just been wondering for a really long time. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..."

I sighed quietly. I felt like I could trust Paul, so why not tell him?

So I did. Without a pause, I told him about the night my mother died. I told him how it was my fault. I told him about the men who killed her. I told him everything up until the encounter with my dad at the hospital.

He didn't need to know anymore than that.

When I finished my story, I realized we were pretty far down the beach. I noticed two little kids building a sand castle, yelling back to their parents, "2 more minutes!"

It was getting dark, they needed to go home. Just go home.

Suddenly the footsteps beside me stopped, and I turned around. Paul looked shocked, his eyes glazed over.

"Th-that happened," he paused, "that happened to you,"

"Paul, nothing happened to me. It happened to my mother,"

"I..had no idea, I- I was such an asshole to you,"

He stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms. His hold was snug, not too tight.

"I'm so sorry,"

His apology was so heartfelt, it made me burst into tears. I thought replaying that night in my head would make me cry, but I was just so used to it now. I've been waiting for Paul's apology for so long, and long ago gave up. Hearing those words broke down the barrier I had put up around me. He melted me from my frozen state of emotion.

As Paul hugged me, setting his chin on the top of my head, I felt like one piece of my broken life finally fit together.

He held me for a long time, and I let the tears fall. I pressed my forehead against his chest, and took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears.

He pulled back, leaving his hands on my shoulders. He looked into my tear-filled eyes and quickly pulled me back again.

I felt him kiss the top of my head, and we stood there for a little longer, just thinking.

Just...breathing.

"Paul," my voice cracking.

"Yeah?"

"It's okay,"

He hugged me a little tighter, and kissed my head again.

"Paul,"

"Yeah?"

"You're really hot,"

I heard his deep laugh rumble in his chest, "thank you," I heard a smile in his voice.

I blushed, realizing what I had just said, "I meant your body,"

He laughed again.

I groaned, "Paul your body temperature is highly above average. Is that better?"

"No, no. I prefer you talking about my looks," he laughed. He pulled out of the embrace, and I suddenly felt extremely cold. A breeze blew by, and I stepped closer to him.

"Now, are you complaining?" he asked in a know-it-all voice.

"Not at all...it's just strange," I giggled, wiping away the tears.

We started walking again, and he put his huge arm around my shoulders, as far away from my neck as possible. He pulled me towards him, and I pushed every thought away.

_You must know this is weird. This isn't right. Nothing about this is._

_He doesn't actually like you, he's lying._

_He's playing a huge joke on you, probably a bet between him Ricky. Maybe his gang is on it too._

_He's playing you! Stop falling for it!_

_You're only going to get hurt in the end. He's going to finally tell you it's all a joke, that he had never actually liked you. You're going to be left there, broken beyond repair. Are you going to live through that? No. You're basically letting this guy kill you. _

_Don't get attached. You'll only get hurt in the end._

I pushed every single negative thought away. I may regret it later, but I didn't care. Right now, I didn't care about what _may_ happen tonight. What _may_ happen tomorrow. What _may_ happen anytime in the future. Right now is all I care about. I'm...okay right now.

Today was turning out to be amazing, despite the thoughts I had this morning.

* * *

I was about ready to jump out of this truck.

Paul and I were casually talking after finally getting in the truck, when he brought up our next plan. The plan that practically made my heart stop.

He was planning to go 'get a bite to eat'.

"Annabelle what's wrong?" he looked at me from the corners of his eyes. He seemed to be testing me.

He was testing me! He saw my arm this morning and said I was 'all skin and bone'. This was his way of seeing if his suspicions were right!

"I..."

_Think of something, damn it! THINK!_

"I'm not hungry,"

_CRAP. He's going to find out. He's going to find out yet another secret about you! You've had years of practice, and you've kept it a secret from almost everyone. You can't keep anything from this guy, and you've hung out with him once! _

The voice in my head was growing louder and louder, yelling at me.

"Annabelle come on," Paul gripped the steering wheel, "it's just something small,"

_HE'S GOING TO FIND OUT. WHEN HE FINDS OUT, HE'S GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT. WHEN YOU EAT, YOU GET FAT._

"But...I don't have money,"

"We're going to the diner. Everything's cheap there, I've got the bill,"

_OH MY GOD DO SOMETHING, DAMN IT!_

"Paul I'm feeling really sick," I wrapped my arms around my stomach, not exactly lying.

He sighed, "are you lying to me?"

"Paul, seriously. Pull over," I squeezed my stomach, and put my palm to my forehead.

He looked at me with concern, "are you okay?" he slowed down the truck, crawling to a halt.

I quickly opened the door, and ran to the tree line. I grabbed onto it, and bent over. I heaved my shoulders up and down, attempting to make it look like I was honestly throwing up.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming toward me. I brought my hand up to my mouth, and made it look like I was wiping it. I turned around, and walked up to Paul, who was too close. I had to make sure that he wouldn't see that I hadn't actually thrown anything up.

"Are you okay?" he looked overly worried.

"I'm fine..." I felt so bad for lying to him, but I just couldn't risk it. It's what I lived for, I'm not about to jeopardize that.

"Do you want to go home?" he said, with sadness in his voice.

I didn't want to go home. Absolutely not.

"No...but I don't want to eat anything...I'd probably just throw it up anyway,"

Voluntarily, I may add.

"Alright," he obliged, and we got back in the truck, "but I'm starving, and I'm not ready to let you go yet. So we'll go to the diner, and I'll just buy you a water, alright?"

I sighed a huge breath of relief. Water was better than eating.

"Deal," I smiled.

* * *

My fingers drummed against the counter, my heart racing. I was running out of excuses, and Paul was getting more and more suspicious. I only had two options left.

Either I eat, or I tell him.

I sat on the bar stool, and stared at the small muffin and glass of water he had bought me. I could feel him staring at me, and I grimaced.

_What the hell am I supposed to do._

I went over to my options.

One, I eat it. This option would be extremely hard. I would gain weight, and because I have been doing this for so long, I don't know if I could keep it down, even if I tried. I could always excuse myself to the washroom, and throw it up there, but Paul's not an idiot. He'd figure it out then and there.

Two, I tell him. This option was hardly an option. What was I supposed to say?

_Um, I can't eat this. I don't want to gain weight. If I gain anymore weight, I'd probably kill myself. Literally. So yeah...no muffin, thanks._

He'd totally be fine with that.

If I tell him, I don't know what he'd do. He could try to make me eat, which will result in weight gain. He could get up, yell_ 'you know what? You're a freak with too much baggage! Why would I even be friends with someone like you?'_ and storm out of the diner.

Both options were terrifying, with no silver linings.

"Annabelle, eat the muffin," he sternly looked at me, waiting.

But at least if I ate it, he'd get off my back and wouldn't think I'm that much of a freak.

"Paul, seriously. I don't want to throw up in your truck,"

"Just eat it, Annabelle!"

So I took a bite.

Everything inside me started screaming.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU FATASS._

_HOW COULD YOU EAT IT?!_

_YOU'RE BETRAYING YOURSELF. YOU'RE GOING TO GAIN WEIGHT! AFTER ALL OF THE HARD WORK YOU'VE PUT INTO LOSING IT, YOU'RE PUTTING IT BACK ON._

_LOOK AT YOU, PACKING ON THE POUNDS, BITCH._

Paul stared at me, shocked.

I forced myself to swallow, and felt like bursting into tears.

_100 pounds._

_183 calories in one small blueberry muffin. I knew that. I knew the calorie count for almost everything._

_At least 10 of those calories just entered my body._

At this point I was in complete panic mode. My mind and heart were racing. If I couldn't throw it up, I had to burn it off.

I started bouncing my leg, fidgeting in anyway I could. I could do some exercise tonight, burn this off. Maybe I could find an excuse to walk home.

I set the muffin back down on the plate, and turned to Paul.

"Happy?" I asked, keeping my voice calm.

"Yes," he smiled, turning to his own food. Before he took a bite of his huge burger, he turned back to me, "eat the rest,"

No way in hell was that happening.

I pushed the muffin back, out of my reach. I didn't want the temptation there. I didn't care if he found out anymore.

I wasn't going to eat for someone who had just decided a few days ago to be my friend.

I wasn't going to gain weight for someone who had tortured me for 10 years prior.

Paul wasn't watching me, as he was too interested in eating his meal, and I took this to my advantage.

Pulling my plate back, I slowly ripped the muffin in half. Setting down one half, I ripped apart the half I still held. When it was completely demolished into crumbs, I threw it onto the floor, under my stool.

Paul was a quick eater. As I brushed my hands to rid of any crumbs, I looked up to notice he was taking his last bite. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, and glanced at my plate. He beamed.

"Wow, I didn't think you would even take another bite," he grinned at me, "nevermind eat half of it,"

"Yeah well," I shrugged, suddenly feeling extremely guilty, "you better hope it doesn't make a second appearance on the floor of your truck,"

He chuckled, and waved the waitress over. He paid, and we got up to leave.

A huge wave of guilt washed over me, and it confused me. I had lied to other people about eating before, and not once had I felt guilty about it. Paul was making me feel extremely guilty, because I was outright lying to him. Paul seemed to take every emotion I have, and make it stronger.

That would explain why I got extra angry at him before.

We had got back into the truck, and I brought my knees up to my chest. I rested my chin on my knees and shut my eyes.

"Do you feel like you're going to be sick?" Paul asked, as he started driving.

"No, I'm fine,"

"Well, you'll be home soon, don't worry,"

I snapped my eyes open, and looked out of the window.

It was pitch black.

"Oh my God, what time is it?" I asked nervously.

"It's almost 8, why?" he asked worriedly, "is it passed your curfew?"

How have we been out for that long? It seemed to go by so quickly.

I laughed, "I don't have a curfew,"

"What?" he asked, shocked, "you should! There's bad people out there, praying on those little girls who stay out too late,"

I laughed again, "seriously Paul? Break-ins and night stalkers...maybe you're just a little too paranoid?"

"Nope," he shook his head, popping the 'p', "I'm just being realistic. Maybe you should be a little more paranoid?"

I sighed, "no thanks," I didn't need paranoia on my list of things wrong with me, "I've survived this long,"

I brought my hand up to the window, tracing imaginary lines.

He chuckled, "well, I'm not going to let anything happen to you anyway, so keep doing whatever,"

"What, are you going to stand guard in front of my house?" I traced more lines. The coldness under my fingertip felt calming.

He turned to look at me, and smiled slyly, "maybe,"

I laughed, bring my hand down to my lap, "eyes on the road, creepy."

He chuckled, but obliged.

We were sat in comfortable silence for a while, but then I broke it by asking, "why do you suddenly care?"

He didn't reply.

"I mean it, Paul. You know how much of a jerk you were before, I never thought...I never thought that you would change,"

"I just realized how much I needed to. How I needed to change,"

I stared at him, studying his face, "you're lying,"

He sighed, "Annabelle, I promise to explain it _all_ to you. Just not now,"

I didn't say anything. I stared out of my window.

"Promise me something," I said quietly. I wasn't sure if he had heard me or not.

"Anything,"

"Promise me that this isn't some big joke. Promise me that you aren't pretending all of this,"

I paused before I blurted out the last part.

"Promise me you aren't just going to walk away from me,"

The road was abandoned, not a car in sight. He came to a stop at one of three stop lights in town, and turned his entire torso to me. He stared deep into my eyes.

"Annabelle, I swear on everything I have, that I am not pretending. I promise I'm not doing this as a joke,"

I had shifted my eyes downwards, feeling his eyes still staring at me.

"Annabelle," he waited until I had made eye contact with him again.

"I _promise_, I _swear_, I will _never_ just get up, and walk away from you. We're in this _together_, I'm _not_ leaving you,"

I smiled, and he mirrored me. I believed him. I wholeheartedly believed him.

I hoped with all of my already-broken heart that he wasn't lying to me.

* * *

We pulled into my driveway, and we sat there for a few minutes.

"Well, I had fun," I smiled.

"Annabelle!" He suddenly yelled, and he grabbed the collar of my sweater. He yanked it down.

My heart raced. I had kept it hidden for the entire day, and _now_ he sees it?

"Tell. Me," he said through his teeth, shaking with anger, "Tell me _now_,"

"Paul I think you should get out of the truck," I said, keeping my calm.

"ANNABELLE TELL ME!"

I groaned, and got out of the truck myself. He followed, stalking over to my side.

He grabbed my shoulder, and he shook even more, "ANNABELLE IF YOU DON'T TELL ME NOW, I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO WALK IN THERE AND KILL HIM,"

I stared. I should be scared, but I was just getting angry.

"Who do _YOU_ think you are?" I yelled back at him, "I DON'T HAVE TO TELL YOU ANYTHING,"

Suddenly, I saw 3 men emerge from the forest line. When they came closer, I made out the faces of Sam, Jared, and Jacob.

"ANNABELLE YOU HAVE TWO SECONDS TO TELL ME!"

"SCREW OFF, PAUL, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS,"

He took one last look at me, turned, and ran for my house.

"PAUL!" I yelled, and ran after him. He was too fast, he was already in my house.

"ANNABELLE, STOP!" I heard Sam yell behind me, "JAROD, JACOB, GO GET HIM!"

The two said men ran past me, yelling for Paul. I had made it into the house, when Sam ran up behind me and grabbed me.

"SAM LET ME GO." I said sternly, "LET ME GO."

"PAUL," I yelled, "PAUL,"

He was going to get me in so much trouble. I thought about what my father would do to me after, and I started crying again.

"PAUL PLEASE STOP," I yelled through my tears, "PLEASE,"

I suddenly heard the yelling. Paul had found him.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Paul, what are you doing in my house?"

"YOU NEED TO GET BEATEN FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HER. YOU'RE OWN DAUGHTER, HOW COULD YOU?"

I heard the growls in his voice, Jared and Jacob yelling, "WE'LL SORT THIS OUT, JUST GET OUT OF THE HOUSE,"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU," I heard Paul yell, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU,"

"SAM, WE CAN'T HOLD HIM, HE'S TOO STRONG,"

"He's stronger than ever before..." I heard Sam mutter to himself, Then to me, "Annabelle, promise me you'll stay _here_,"

"Yeah Sam, just stop him!" I yelled, having no intention on listening to him.

He glanced at me, and ran up the stairs towards my room. Why was my father in my room?

Without thinking, I followed him. My heart was racing.

The scene I was met with scared me. Paul looked evil. He was shaking more than I had ever seen him, and having Jacob and Jarod cling onto him didn't stop it. My father looked...scared. For the first time since _that night_, he had another emotion other than angry.

"PAUL," I yelled, making everyone turn around. Sam looked angry at me, because I had disobeyed him.

Whatever, he had no control over me.

Jacob and Jarod pulled hard on Paul as I neared him.

"ANNABELLE, GET BACK," Paul yelled at me, the same time Sam yelled, "ANNABELLE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

I took a look at my father. His entire face was pretty much blood and gashes. He was cradling his arm.

I stood in front of him, facing Paul. I didn't know what I was attempting to do.

_Why was I protecting my father, when all he's done is hurt me?_

"YOU WANT TO KILL HIM?" I yelled in Paul's face, his shaking increased, "DO YOU?"

"ANNABELLE. MOVE. OUT. OF. MY WAY."

I turned around, facing my bloody father. I didn't feel bad for him at all. I smiled.

"This man has been torturing me for years," I stopped yelling, "he is the main reason I started cutting,"

_STOP TALKING. YOU'RE TELLING EVERYONE._

"He is the reason for all that's wrong with me,"

I took a deep breath.

"He's the reason I'm suicidal,"

_YOU JUST TOLD SAM, PAUL, JAROD, AND JACOB ONE OF YOUR BIGGEST SECRETS. _

I turned to look at Paul, "kill him,"

Sam yelled, looking completely shocked, "ANNABELLE STOP," he ran over to Paul, pulling him back.

"MOVE!"

I don't know who said it, but that was the last word I heard before Paul exploded.

He literally exploded.

_What that actual hell just happened._

Before my eyes, I saw him grow, reaching for the ceiling. He grew hairier, he growled so loudly, I had to cover my ears.

I watched as he fell back down. I heard the yelling.

I heard the growls.

I felt the pain.


End file.
